It Is What It Is
by michael t
Summary: Episode 13 of the Trick Chronicles, in which a key fact is revealed and a terrible mistake committed.
1. Default Chapter

Suggested listening:  
"It Is What It Is" by Adam Again  
"I Feel Nothing" by Havalina  
  
It Is What It Is What It Is  
  
by  
  
Michael Walker  
  
  
"The what?" Giles demanded. He was stupefied.  
  
"The Chevaliers du Croix. The Knights of the Cross." Stefan Warner knelt to check on the condition of the would-be assassin he had subdued.  
  
Giles waved his hands. "I heard you. But that's impossible. The Knights are... are a legend, completely fictitious." He felt more than a little ridiculous, standing outside his apartment and discussing arcane points of occult lore by the yellow glow of the streetlights.  
  
Warner stood. "Yeah. As opposed to an ancient secret society whose members are dedicated to guiding and training the one girl in all the world who's called to fight evil. Right." He cocked a mocking eye in the Watcher's direction.  
  
Giles huffed and puffed and tried to wax indignant, but he couldn't.  
  
"Listen, I hate to interrupt, especially when it looks like y'all are about to measure whose is bigger, but we have more immediate concerns." Matti Hollis stood with her left hand on her hip and the tranquilizer pistol hanging from her right. "I think we better do something about these two before the neighbors begin to talk."  
  
"True." Warner bent down and pulled the groggy assassin to his feet. Hollis turned and jogged away. Giles stared at them, a stunned look on his face.  
  
"What are you doing?" he finally stammered.  
  
"Look, we told Gerard we'd keep an eye on you. We didn't say we'd stand on your front lawn waiting for a neighbor to notice the two guys we took out." The amber glow of running lights washed over Warner's face. "Here we are."  
  
Matti Hollis pulled up in Toyota 4Runner. As she got out she tossed a black bag to Warner. He took out shackles and secured the two prisoners. The teachers locked the shackles to rings in the SUV's floor and covered the men with a tarp. Giles felt his brain finally kick into gear.  
  
"I remember that there was a particular insignia that supposedly identified the Knights," Giles said.  
  
"You mean this?" Warner grabbed the hem of his long-sleeved black T-shirt and pulled it over his head. In the glare of the headlights there appeared to be a brilliantly colored tattoo of a Maltese cross high on the left side of his chest. The stained-glass effect was not the result of pen and ink, however; as Giles looked more closely he could see corrugated ridges of flesh criss-crossing the design. It was a brand, the pigments worked into the tissue while the wound was fresh and unhealed. Giles winced at the thought of the pain such a mark would produce.  
  
"Yeah," Warner said as he pulled his shirt back on. "It stung." Giles eyes went to Matti Hollis.  
  
"Oh, I got one too," she said. "But you'll have to take my word for it." She turned to Warner. "You ready?"  
  
"Wait," Giles said. "What are you going to do with them?"  
  
"Don't worry, we'll take care of them." Warner paused, half inside the car. "Probably put 'em on a bus or plane." He turned to Hollis. "I like the bus. Knock 'em both out, put on a Greyhound headed for North Dakota."  
  
"Or Mississippi," she replied.  
  
"Oh yeah." He pointed at her, then turned back to the Watcher. "Listen, Mr. Giles, I know this is a lot to have thrown at you in one night, but I think it's best if we all scatter. Tell you what, we'll stop by the library tomorrow and debrief, okay?"  
  
"I supposed," Giles mumbled.  
  
"Great, see you then." Warner slammed the door and Hollis pulled away from the curb, leaving Giles standing on the sidewalk, shivering from pent-up adrenaline as the dew soaked into his shoes.  
  
***  
  
Willow kicked off her covers and got out of bed. She reached for the lamp but pulled her hand back. She walked to the French doors and looked out at the darkness instead.  
  
She had come home, done her homework, talked to Oz on the phone, and gone to bed convinced that what she was calling 'the experiment' was a mistake. Except that now she felt a strange sensation somewhere in her brainpan. Willow remembered the time Buffy had talked her into trying chocolate-covered coffee beans at Java the Hut at the mall. The bitterness of the initial taste made Willow gag, but then the tempting aftertaste bloomed. Now she was experiencing the psychic equivalent.  
  
She moved slightly, her focus shifted, and she caught sight of her ghostly reflection in the glass. She stared at the spectral image as a thought, no, more a rudimentary glimmer of an itch began to tickle her mid-brain. What would it be like to do it again?  
  
***  
  
Cordelia Chase wore a French-blue poplin shirt with white collar and cuffs and immaculate navy slacks. A white tennis sweater with navy piping was slung around her shoulders. She was very serious. "I'm telling you, we have got to be sharper. We're stumbling around out there now like something out of Fantasia."  
  
Melanie Parrish shook her head. "We're fine."  
  
"No, we're not." Cordelia tilted her head forward, staring at the other girl. "Fine is not good. It's average with attitude."  
  
"Whatever." Melanie smirked as she hitched up her backpack. "If you don't chill they're going to make a Showtime movie about you."  
  
Cordelia's lips tightened and she held her head as though her bangs might be used as weapons. "I know we're all still over the rainbow about the football team, but football's over. It's basketball season now and the team is ubersuck. We are the only reason some people have for coming to the games." She held a finger up in front of Melanie's face and the other girl took a step back, startled. "We were part of something bigger during football season. It was easy then, but now, we have to stand on our own two feet. We can't just cheer for winning. We have to cheer for pride."  
  
There was a concerned look on Melanie's face as she muttered, "As God is my witness, I'll never go hungry again."  
  
Cordelia took a breath to continue her rant, but her eyes flicked to the side and caught a glimpse of Xander walking toward them. In a split-second Cordelia's stomach felt fluttery and hollow. She swallowed and said, "Just be ready to do better, okay?"  
  
Melanie rolled her eyes. "Yes, mein Fuhrer," she said under her breath as she walked away. Cordelia turned to meet Xander.   
  
"Cor," Xander said as he came to a stop in front of her, "we need to talk."  
  
Cordelia held up her hands. "Xander, I am so sorry about last night."  
  
"Yeah, well, you should be. I thought sitting around by myself at the Bronze was humiliating before, but now I know there's a whole new level to be reached." He had a full head of steam and he was determined to use it before he stared too long into those hazel eyes and just melted.  
  
"I said I'm sorry. Something came up and I didn't have a chance to call."  
  
Xander feigned surprise. "That's it? That's supposed to make everything all better?" He shook his head. "I thought you'd have a better story."  
  
Cordelia's voice acquired a dangerous edge. "It's not a story. It's the truth."  
  
"Come on. I waited for three hours. You couldn't find a phone once?" Xander looked away. "You know what really makes this sting? I believe you. I think something did come up, but I don't think you couldn't call me. I just think you didn't."  
  
"What are you saying?"  
  
Xander took a deep breath. "I think I was pretty blunt. Cor, have you ever needed me?"  
  
"What?" She looked puzzled.  
  
"When this... thing started, I'll admit it was mostly about groping each other in the supply closet. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy that, and I'd like to do it again some day--"  
  
"So what's stopping you?" Cordelia demanded.  
  
"What?"  
  
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "If you ever, ever breathe a word of this to anyone, I will kill you in the slowest, most disgusting manner possible." She glanced down at the floor. "I enjoyed that too, but for the last couple of months I might as well have been dating one of the guys from Will and Grace."  
  
Xander pointed to his own chest. "I was trying to back off and be a gentleman."  
  
"Back off? Why?" Cordelia had that look on her face, the one that said 'Have you stopped taking your medication?'  
  
"Because of what happened last fall. Buffy said--"  
  
"Buffy said?" Cordelia's eyes widened in fury. "You talked to Buffy about us?"  
  
"What?" Xander asked as he tried to pull his head into his shoulders like a turtle. "I needed to talk to somebody."  
  
"And you just happened to talk to Buffy." Cordelia crossed her arms and her chin jutted out. "You had to humiliate me, is that it?"  
  
"What are you--"  
  
"What was the plan, Xander? Impress her with what a sensitive guy you are, let her see how well you're treating the emotionally fragile? How noble you are for thinking of my feelings?" Cordelia's eyes snapped.  
  
"Hey," Xander said, stung by her words, "I'm not the one with more barriers than a NASCAR track when it comes to sex." He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. That was stupid and wrong."  
  
"Yeah, it was." Cordelia shook her head to straighten her hair. "So, did Buffy sympathize with your plight? Did you talk about what might have happened to me?" She glared at him. "For your information, yes, what happened last fall was bad, but that's not the problem. In fact, he didn't do anything to me that I haven't done for you." She wanted the words back even as they passed her lips.  
  
Xander flushed. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He tried again. "Okay, I don't have much experience here, but I think this is where we walk away before we say something we regret." He took two steps backwards, his eyes on the floor. "I'll see you at lunch, okay?" He turned and shambled down the hall, gaze still downcast. Cordelia stood in the middle of the hall, chin high, watching until he turned the corner. Then she went to the girls' restroom, locked herself in a stall, and cried. 


	2. chapter 2

Stefan Warner carried his coffee cup in his right hand as he entered the library. He wore a hand-painted silk tie loosely knotted over a denim shirt. Matti Hollis was already in the library. She was seated at the table with Giles.  
  
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Warner said as he sat down. "Up a little late grading tests."  
  
"Are you both actually teachers?" Giles asked.  
  
"Are you actually a librarian?" Warner took a sip of his coffee.  
  
"Yes, we are both certified teachers in the state of California." Hollis smiled. "Just as you hold a Masters in library science."  
  
"But how did you come to be in Sunnydale?" Giles furrowed his brow.  
  
"How did you come to Sunnydale?" Warner placed his cup on the table and leaned back in his chair. "We were assigned here, just like you were. You think the Watcher's Council is the only bunch that knows about the existence of a Hellmouth? Dream on." The Watcher blinked rapidly, like a man who had just taken a severe blow to the head. Warner shook his head and put his hands on the table, palms down. "Tell you what," the history teacher said, "why don't we skip twenty questions and I'll just lay a big chunk of exposition on you and get you caught up. Okay?"  
  
"I think I might like that." Giles looked dazed.  
  
"Seven, maybe eight years ago, I'm in grad school, at a history conference and symposium." Warner sipped coffee and made a face. "You know the kind of thing I mean-dull as dirt and musty as a coffin liner. Full of professors trying to outdo each other with the daring of their newest theory, which is usually deconstructionist hooey. Anyway, I end up at a workshop called 'Language and Empire.' Sounds like a snoozer, right? Wrong. It's Gerard doing the workshop and it's great. I was really impressed, so I stayed afterward to meet him, see if I could really understand some of his hypotheses. One thing leads to another, we end up meeting for coffee that night. We talked until, man, something like 2 am. Kept in touch after that, you know, notes, discussions of theory, me trying to understand those weird, convoluted notions he has about language and human development." Warner took another taste of his beverage before he resumed his account.  
  
"We'd been corresponding for about six months when he asked me to help him with some research on the Phoenicians. I was already an adjunct member of the Chevalier and there was a strong mystical element in the material he wanted, so I kind of started asking some questions." Warner smiled a crooked smile. "I thought I was very subtle but he knew what I was doing right away. He asked me straight out what I was after. I was so flustered at being busted that I blurted out that I was a Knight of the Cross. He looked at me for a minute, then laughed and told me that he was a Watcher."  
  
Giles touched the earpiece of his glasses to his lips. "You know that was an unusual reaction, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah. Usually our kind get on about as well as bobcats in a burlap bag." Warner looked in his cup and found it empty. "Amateur psych time, but I think that he felt we had sort of a mentor-protégé relationship. Probably played into that Watcher's feeling of superiority." He shrugged in the face of Giles' indignant look. "Hey, most of the other groups have reached at least a sort of live-and-let-live arrangement. Admit it, the Watchers think they're better than everybody else."  
  
"I think that from a historical standpoint--" Giles began.  
  
"From a historical standpoint you can blow it out your ass," Warner said calmly. "I know all about that dawn of time and First Slayer and from the depths of antiquity crap. Even if it's true, it doesn't give you Watchers the right to act as if your mission was somehow higher than ours."  
  
"No, how could it be? It's only ten thousand years older. May I remind you that when your order was founded the Watchers Council had been an organized body for almost eighty centuries?" Giles felt his face getting warm.  
  
"Oh, right, and there was no one else fighting the good fight back then." Warner shook his head. "That's the sort of ludicrous pomposity typical of Watchers."  
  
"Ludicrous--? Pompos--" Giles sputtered, unable to finish. His confusion had been banished, replaced by pique and wounded pride. He started to rise up from his chair.  
  
"This should accomplish a lot." Matti Hollis leaned back in her chair and propped her feet on the table. Her calm demeanor and the fact that her long, shapely legs were encased in red Spandex tights pulled the two men's attention away from each other. "Mr. Giles, Gerard asked us to keep an eye on you. We know how unusual that is, but you should understand that we're doing it strictly off-book, so to speak."  
  
"What?"  
  
Hollis lifted her feet from the table and came to an upright and locked position. "We're not here to be your bodyguards. This is a legitimate assignment. Gerard called us within forty-eight hours of our notification. He asked us to do this as a personal favor. Our superiors don't know. And the Watchers Council doesn't know he asked."  
  
Giles eyes widened. "Did he contact you while he was here?"  
  
"Of course." Hollis shrugged. "Who do you think had your back the night you fought the wolf pack?"  
  
Giles gaped. "You were the shooters?"  
  
"Sho 'nuff." One corner of Hollis's mouth lifted.  
  
The librarian's expression hardened. "Where were you when Lindsay Maeda was killed?"  
  
"Hey, we're sorry about that, but we already told you that we have our own mission. We don't follow you around and wait to snatch you out of trouble. We were only here tonight because Gerard gave us the heads-up." Warner tapped the base of his empty cup against the table. It echoed in the library.  
  
"I should really tell Buffy about this," Giles said.  
  
Hollis grimaced and shook her head. "We would prefer if you didn't. We're not exactly supposed to be high profile during an assignment. If our superiors knew about this little chat we'd be in a world of hurt. The fewer people know, the less chance of that happening."  
  
Giles frowned. "What is your mission?"  
  
"We don't have a Chosen One," Warner said. "We just have people who study ancient texts and prophecies and try to locate hot spots. A Hellmouth is, by definition, a hot spot, but one of our researchers finally worked out a translation problem in a Perizzite scroll circa 3,000 BC. Now that we can read the scroll it's thrown a lot of light on some other prophecies. We believe that something big is going to happen in Sunnydale."  
  
"Is that all?" Giles couldn't help but smile. "You must really have an outstanding department of prophecy."  
  
***  
  
"I just hate it. It's not like I really like hanging with you guys." Cordelia pouted. "If I weren't so perceptive I wouldn't have noticed the vampires and then I wouldn't have gotten sucked into your stupid save-the-world orbit."  
  
Willow bit into a celery stick, mostly to give herself time to frame a reply. "That sort of perception would be a burden." She wiped her mouth on a napkin. "But, let me see if I understand this. You actually didn't show up for the date, but you're mad at Xander for calling you on it?"  
  
"Well, when you put it that way, of course it makes me look bad." Cordelia took a bite of some exotic salad. "But I don't like the pressure. Something did come up."  
  
"But you don't feel the need to share what it was with Xander?" Willow was growing more deeply confused by the second.  
  
"Whatever happened to trust? If I had to miss a date, it must have been something important, right?" Cordelia's logic was unassailable, so Willow just shrugged. The cheerleader bored on. "So why does he get all insecure and assume I have some sort of agenda?"  
  
Willow swallowed. "Because it's the sort of thing you would do." She dabbed at her lips again. "Cordelia, dating is kind of a new thing for Xander anyway. Dating you is like trying to learn to swim by crossing the English Channel. He's going to be a little insecure. You have to cut him some slack."  
  
"Like what?" The concept of cutting a boyfriend some slack was clearly virgin emotional forest for the brunette.  
  
Willow shrugged as she put her silverware on her tray. "Start by telling him where you were, maybe."  
  
Cordelia leaned across the plate. "Do you tell Oz everything?"  
  
Willow stopped and stared at the other girl. Something flickered in the redhead's eyes. "I better go," she said. "Xander's coming in."  
  
Cordelia whirled in her chair. Xander was just inside the door, heading for the serving line. She turned back as Willow stood up.  
  
"Good luck," the redhead said.  
  
***  
  
"Yes, it seems that our truce with the hillbillies is a thing of the past, so everyone must be careful." Mr. Trick looked around the table, making eye contact with each of his lieutenants, letting them know he was serious. "They may be stupid, backward and obnoxious, but they are dangerous." He waved a hand. "Now go. There's work to be done." They filed out of the room. Vampire reactions never failed to amaze Trick; let a group of humans know that one of their own had been coldly mutilated and they would quake in fear. Vampires, on the other hand, seemed to relish that sort of thing; it got their juices going. Trick took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.  
  
"Here, sir. I thought this might be appreciated." Quisling placed a glass on the table. Trick picked it up and took a drink.  
  
"Damn, Quisling, that is fine. What is it?"  
  
Quisling smiled at the compliment. "A very nice Merlot mixed with, I believe, a fifteen year old B positive."  
  
"It hits the spot, I must say." Trick took another drink. "I tell you, Quisling, sometimes it's enough to make a brother just hang his head. First it's no Slayer, then it's one Slayer, then it's two Slayers. By the way, forgot to tell you there's another vampire in town and he's bughouse crazy. Now there's this... whatever it is, curse or somethin'." He leaned back in his chair. "If a man doesn't stay focused, it could get him down."  
  
Quisling nodded, his face creased with concentration. "Sir, may I ask a question?"  
  
"Ask away. How will my protégé learn without asking?" Trick drained the glass.  
  
"Well, how does one stay focused in this situation? It seems as though obstacles have arisen at every turn."  
  
Trick snapped up out of his chair, his body alert, tense like a coiled spring. "Quisling, what does a hurdler concentrate on?"  
  
Quisling looked confused. "Why, clearing the hurdles I suppose."  
  
Trick shook his head. "No, you see, the hurdles are the one thing he doesn't let hold his attention." He began to stalk around the table, moving fluidly. "He knows where the hurdles will be. He has prepared for them. No, what he keeps his eye on is the finish line. The man who does the best job of that will win the race."  
  
"I'm sorry. Are you saying you ignore these... distractions?"  
  
Trick shook his head. "No. I'm saying that I know they're going to come. Something will go wrong. Some do-gooder will try to stop me. Some ancient scroll or tablet will be a fake. Something will go wrong. You have to prepare for that."  
  
Quisling mulled this over. "How can you be prepared for what is unknown?"  
  
Trick smiled, a sly and dazzling burst of teeth. "You don't focus on the process, my friend, you focus on the goal. Fulfilling that contract, that's what's important. The tactics, the means, all are superfluous. You must meet that contract. If you keep that in mind, you can roll with anything that comes at you." He was fairly bouncing on his toes. "Man, I feel good now. I may have to go out and have me some fun tonight." 


	3. chapter 3

Xander shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again, waiting for Cordelia to look up. This event did not appear imminent; she had apparently discovered some fascinating anomaly in the simulated wood-grain of the tabletop.  
  
"Okay, Cor," he said. "How long do I have to stand here?"  
  
"I haven't decided." She continued her microscopic examination of the Formica for another few seconds, then looked up at him. "Okay."  
  
Xander slid into the chair across from her. "Let's just get everything right out in the open. Exactly how much groveling time am I looking at?"  
  
Cordelia looked at him, tilted her head to one side, scrunched her nose the tiniest bit and shrugged. "I don't know. Probably not much." She glanced down. "After all, I did cancel without calling, so some of this is my fault."  
  
Xander tried hard to swallow his tongue, as this seemed to be the only way to not say something stupid. Instead he nodded as though in great thought. "Yeah. Well, I would like to apologize for my crack of earlier this morning. It was insensitive and cruel of me, and it didn't help us deal with the real issue at hand."  
  
She stared at him solemnly, then a slow smile spread over her face. "How long did you have to rehearse that?"  
  
Xander flinched. "'Insensitive' gave me away, didn't it? I knew it was too much." He reached out and touched her fingers with a tentative hand. "Look, Cordelia, here's what I really wanted to say this morning and what I'd like to say now. When this... thing started, it was pretty much shallow, tawdry physical attraction. Then I was kind of jazzed by the idea that I was dating Cordelia Chase, you know?" He took a deep breath. "I know I sound like Jeb the Idiot Boy, but I'm having a hard time with this. I guess... I want you to know that I'm not just in it for that, at least not anymore. I... I want you to believe that you can trust me, that you can count on me if you need me."  
  
Her expression was a perfect blank, her eyes wide and deep as she looked at him. "Xander, have you ever wondered why I date so many guys?"  
  
Xander's face clouded. "Uh, no."  
  
"Everybody thinks that I'm an airhead bitch because my family has money. Guys think I'll either be the perfect trophy or their own cheerleader slash whore. Reality's a little more complicated. I'm nobody's trophy. Most of the guys bail when they realize that." Her hand traced an aimless pattern on the table. "What about you?"  
  
"What connection does this have with last night?" Xander's brow furrowed in confusion.  
  
"I didn't blow you off. Something came up, something important. I got busy, and I forgot. I need you to trust me when I tell you that's all it was."  
  
Xander studied her face, scrutinized every detail, even taking in the freckles sprinkled ever so lightly across the bridge of her nose. "Cor, is this what you want? For me to just nod and stand there?"  
  
Cordelia's perfect white teeth worried at her lower lip. "It was a family thing, okay? It was a family situation."  
  
"What kind of situation? Somebody get sick, steal a car, sprain a wrist carrying a money bag?" Xander leaned forward and arched his eyebrows.  
  
Her throat worked as she swallowed. For a moment she stared into his eyes as she teetered on the brink of something. "It was family. That's all I can say."  
  
Xander took a deep breath, looked down at the table, then back up at her. "Okay."  
  
***  
  
Oz nearly jumped out of his skin when Willow grabbed him by the shoulder. "You really shouldn't do that when a guy's just come out of the bathroom," he said.  
  
"I got the letter," she said.  
  
"The letter," he repeated.  
  
"The letter," Willow said. "The one from MIT." She began to bounce up and down on her toes. "I got in."  
  
"Yeah," he said. "If I don't act surprised, it's because I'm not. MIT would stand for Morons In Training if they didn't accept you."  
  
Willow grabbed his arm with both hands. "Have you gotten yours yet?"  
  
Oz blinked. "Mine?"  
  
"Yeah, your letter."  
  
Oz blinked again. "I didn't know I was supposed to get one."  
  
Willow rolled her eyes. "Come on, we've talked about this. How cool it would be to go to the same college, study together for four more years. I mean, if I'm MIT material, then you sure are."  
  
Oz nodded. "Uh, yeah, about that..." His free hand scratched at the front of his olive-green T-shirt, his fingertips slipping across the logo for the Choir's Speckled Bird. "I, uh... Willow, Devon's talking about trying to make Dingoes go."  
  
Willow frowned, confused. "Dingoes is already going."  
  
Oz shook his head. "I mean really go, like full-time go."  
  
Willow shrugged. "So Devon's got some weird idea about being on MTV. I'm..." Her voice trailed away and her hands dropped to her sides. "Are you thinking about it, too?"  
  
Oz looked down, leaving Willow looking at the crown of his head. His hair today was a distinctly citrus shade of orange-yellow. He looked back up. "I don't know. I mean, I know the odds are against it, but if we don't try... And this would be the best time to try it, before we get tied up with college and jobs and stuff."  
  
Willow caught her lower lip between her teeth. "You're considering it, aren't you?"  
  
Oz shrugged. He looked confused and thoughtful. "I don't know. I mean, I don't think I really am, but it just seems... I don't know, like it would be wrong to just slam the door on it." He looked at Willow. "We are good. We really are."  
  
"I know. Remember, this is me, me who's seen you at the Bronze more than, oh, anybody."  
  
Oz shook his head. "I don't mean Bronze good. I mean really good. Plenty good enough."  
  
Willow began to look concerned. "Oz, what are you saying?"  
  
He smiled. "Just spitballing." He took her hand. "Want to go sit outside?"  
  
***  
  
Principal Snyder's feet barely reached the floor when he sat in his chair. He hated this because when he was nervous his unanchored feet would tap against the floor. They were doing a fair imitation of the cast of Stomp as he waited for the Mayor's secretary to connect him.  
  
"Well, Bob, you're calling on the secure line so I guess this is important."  
  
Snyder actually jumped at the sound of the voice in his ear. "Yes sir, I think it is. I noticed Rupert Giles meeting with those two new teachers before school this morning."  
  
"The two we were concerned about?"  
  
"Yes. I thought you should know."  
  
"Admirable of you. Thanks for being on your toes, Bob."  
  
There was a click in Snyder's ear and the phone went dead. He felt one calf begin to cramp as he put the phone in its cradle.  
  
***  
  
"Hey B. Hold the train a second."  
  
Buffy turned and saw Faith walking toward her. The dark Slayer wore low-slung black pants and what appeared to be a coat of red paint on her torso. A backpack bounced against her hip as it dangled by one strap. Buffy assumed rest position, one knee bent and her weight resting on the straight leg.  
  
"Hey, I was wondering," Faith said as she stopped beside the blonde Slayer, "if you'd be interested in patrolling together tonight."  
  
Buffy drew back a bit and frowned. "What?"  
  
Faith shrugged and looked embarrassed. "Look, I know I've been off in my own little funk for a while, but it's time to get serious again. I've been letting the patrolling slack pretty bad."  
  
"I've had to be careful too." Buffy's hand started toward her neck but she stopped it in time. "The guys were going to go with me tonight."  
  
"Well, unless I'd be the ultimate fifth wheel I'd still like to come." Faith pushed some strands of hair behind her ear. "I haven't exactly been warm and fuzzy to them either."  
  
Buffy nodded. "Sure. I know that they'd be happy for you to come."  
  
"Great. I'll see ya tonight." Faith turned and walked away. When her back was to Buffy, the dark Slayer let a small smile slip out.  
  
***  
  
Giles stood in the hall outside the library, the very vision of casual detachment as he sipped from his mug. He nodded at passing students and smiled at fellow faculty members. Buffy saw him from a distance and slipped out of the stream of humanity to stand in front of him.  
  
"Hey, Giles, good news about tonight's patrol.""  
  
Giles hesitated, his mug on the way to his mouth again. "You're patrolling tonight?"  
  
"Yeah. Don't worry though. The whole gang's going with." She squinched up her face. "Never let it be said that our generation doesn't care."  
  
"What do they think they can do if you meet Trick?" the Watcher asked.  
  
Buffy shrugged. "I don't know. Jump on me and hold me down, I guess. Oh, and Faith's coming too."  
  
"Faith?"  
  
"Yeah." The Slayer's eyes softened. "Giles, I think maybe she's coming around."  
  
Giles tipped his head to the side. "That would be a welcome development."  
  
"Yeah." Buffy hefted her books and waved as she walked away. "See ya."  
  
***  
  
The sky flared a dark, blood-red as the sun slipped below the hills. That color faded and deepened into a cool black. The doors of the house burst open and the denizens of the night poured forth. They streamed across the overgrown yard and scattered to the four points of the compass. One of them paused on the porch steps and inhaled deeply, smelling the wintry night air. Then Othniel Hampton smiled.  
  
"Remember therefore from whence thou art fallen, and repent, and do the first works; or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will remove thy candlestick out of his place, except thou repent." Hampton's voice rose in power as the old cadences awakened. "And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth." The sound of his voice died away, only faint echoes chasing each other through the night. Hampton closed his eyes and luxuriated in the fierce purity of his zeal. It was time for the infidel to pay.  
  
***  
  
There was tension. Also, the Titanic was a bit of a disaster and World War I was something of a rough patch.  
  
The look on Willow's face when she opened her front door and saw Buffy and Faith standing on the porch was clearly a harbinger of things to come. Xander shuffled his feet and acted like some sort of retarded Clampett cousin and Cordelia... well, Cordelia was frosty enough to store beer in her bra. Only Oz maintained any semblance of civility and Buffy assumed he was being civil because she realized that she really didn't know how a rude Oz would behave.  
  
"Buffyyyy." A sharp whine edged Willow's voice. Her eyes kept cutting over the Slayer's shoulder to sneak a glance at Faith.  
  
Buffy took the redhead by the arm. "Could I talk to you for just a minute?" she said, steering Willow toward the kitchen. The blonde Slayer glanced over her shoulder. Faith stood just inside the door, her face as brittle as the pages of grandma's diary. "Be just a sec," Buffy said, holding her thumb and index finger just that far apart. Faith nodded.  
  
Willow was practically hopping as the kitchen door closed behind them. "What's she doing here?" Willow caught her lower lip between her teeth. "I mean, I didn't expect you to show up with her."  
  
Buffy placed a hand on her friend's forearm. "I don't know. She just came up this afternoon and said she wanted to patrol." The Slayer took a deep breath. "Maybe she just had to, y'know, grieve... and now, she's through it and ready to move on."  
  
Willow thought about that for a moment. "Well, Xander did say something about talking to her, you know, about getting on with things." She nodded. "Maybe Faith took it to heart."  
  
"I hope so."  
  
"But, Buffy..." Willow flinched as the Slayer turned back. "I know you want her to be better, but she went through an awful thing. Don't... don't let what you want blind you to what is."  
  
Buffy took a step closer to her friend. "If you've got a point, just make it, okay?"  
  
Willow looked as though she might cry. "This seems like such a sudden change... I know you want her back, I know you want her to be well, but... You can't will it, you know?"  
  
Buffy glanced down at the floor, then back at Willow. The redhead was about to tie her fingers in knots as she twisted her hands together. The Slayer spoke in a soft, sad voice. "Willow, I know what it's like to go through a terrible thing, and I know what it's like to deal. I know what it's like to be in the dark and see a little bit of light. I'll go all the way to the wall for her. I can't do anything else."  
  
Willow nodded, then raised her chin and looked into Buffy's eyes. "I know. That's what bothers me." 


	4. chapter 4

The night had turned cool and the contrast with the day's warmth had caused mist to rise and dew to form. The Slayerettes moved through a damp, foggy darkness, unconsciously drawing nearer each other, and with good reason. The weather might have cooled, but the vampire hunting was hot. The tensions that had existed as they left the Rosenberg home vanished under the demands of battle.  
  
"I can't remember the last time I've staked this many," Buffy whispered.  
  
"Yeah," Oz said. "It's like Whack-A-Mole."  
  
"Make that Whack-A-Vamp," Xander said.  
  
"Please," Cordelia snapped. "This fog is ruining my hair."  
  
"Tell you what," Buffy said, "let's go that way--" she pointed east "-and make one more sweep. Then we call it a night, okay?" There was a general murmur of assent and they moved off into the night.  
  
***  
  
The opposing bands of vampires were easy to differentiate. One group was decked out in black combat gear and looking like a Special Forces squad. The other crew was scruffy and raggedy, wearing apparently whatever odds and ends they had come across. They faced each other, separated by twenty or thirty feet of open grass. The air between them was charged like a summer sky just before a thunderstorm.  
  
The Scoobies watched from a vantage point a little over a hundred yards away atop a small knoll. The smell of damp earth rose into their nostrils as they lay on the ground.  
  
"If this wet grass ruins my jacket I'm going to be really pissed," Cordelia hissed under her breath.  
  
"Let's go." Faith started to rise from her prone position. Buffy threw an arm across her back, pulling the dark Slayer down.  
  
"Wait," Buffy said. "Not yet."  
  
"Excuse me? Did you forget the slayer part of the gig?" Faith tried to twist out from under the pinioning arm. "See 'em and slaughter 'em."  
  
Buffy's voice held an edge. "Look, there are Trick vampires down there and Reverend vampires. If they're working together again, I want to know as much as I can. We watch and then we attack... and then we tell Giles."  
  
Oz touched the blonde Slayer's arm. "Uh, I don't think they're working together." He pointed and Buffy saw the two sides entangled in combat. The roil of bodies separated; three corpses turned to dust almost as an afterthought. Dim light sparkled off the dew-laden grass and cast a diffuse glow in the heavy mist. The combatants surged together again and loud groans and hateful screams rent the night air. Everyone was still standing when they parted, but blood glittered and torn flaps of clothing dangled.  
  
"Uh, who is that?" Xander's voice was shaky. The others looked at him, then followed his gaze until they too saw the tall figure of a man striding toward the fight. His long hair streamed out behind him and as he drew closer he reached up with one hand and gave it a savage twist.  
  
"What did he do?" Willow asked.  
  
"I think he just tied his hair in a knot," Cordelia said in a tone of voice that said she could think of no greater horror.  
  
Buffy squinted in the dark. "Is that...?"  
  
"Yeah," Faith said. "It's the Reverend."  
  
Strangely enough, Othniel Hampton's followers showed no jubilation at his approach. In fact they shrank back. Trick's lackeys murmured among themselves, puzzled by their foes' reactions to this unexpected appearance. Hampton simply strode forward, neither hurrying nor delaying, as he passed by his own company. He was only a few feet from Trick's forces when his pace quickened. He covered the last few strides at a dead run.  
  
"Whoa," said Oz.  
  
"Double whoa," whispered Willow. "And side of eek."  
  
Buffy had seen lots of combat. She had seen the assassins of the Order of Taraka. She had seen Spike and Drusilla. She had even seen Angelus in full fury. But she had never seen anything like this. This was an explosion of fury so pure, so intense, that it radiated like heat. None of Hampton's followers fought at his side. He waded into Trick's force alone and he laid waste to them.  
  
"Wow," Xander gulped. "So pulling out the heart has the same effect as staking it." Buffy glanced at Faith. The dark Slayer stared at the slaughter, her eyes wide, lips slightly parted. She seemed to feel the weight of Buffy's gaze and turned her head. Buffy frowned. Something passed through Faith's eyes, just for a split-second, something unreadable.  
  
"Still want to jump in?" Buffy asked.  
  
"The moment has passed," Faith replied.  
  
"Okay, everybody, let's crawl away slowly." Buffy herded the Scoobies off the rise and out of sight of the skirmish. At the bottom of the knoll they got to their feet and walked away. Behind them, voices rose in ululating howls that drifted over the rise.  
  
***  
  
"That was the Mayor." Quisling's cell phone was a silver wafer as light as a burglar's conscience. He slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket and raised his eyebrows at Mr. Trick, who responded by rolling his eyes upward and looking off to the left. Mr. Quisling kept his voice placid. "He seemed concerned."  
  
"I'll bet he was." The fingers of Trick's left hand stroked his forehead. "Let me guess... He wants to see me." Quisling nodded. Trick made a disgusted noise. "It's always the same. Everybody's brave, everybody wants to go for it until the first thing goes wrong. It's like Mike Tyson said, everybody's got a plan until they get hit." He sighed and rose to his feet. "Remind me again, Quisling, why am I doing this?"  
  
"Because you stand to make more money than you can count? Power beyond mortal ken?"  
  
Trick considered, then nodded. "Yeah, that's it. Thanks. I feel better now."  
  
***  
  
"It was majorly weird, Giles. I mean freaky-styley." Buffy took a bite out of her peach and chewed. Her Watcher considered her statement while he unpacked his own lunch. It was hard for the Slayer to tell if her declaration or his concentration on his meal caused his frown.  
  
"I'm not sure how significant that is," he said. "Vampires don't necessarily get along with one another." He unwrapped a sandwich.  
  
"Giles, you've got two groups who weren't fighting and now they are. That seems pretty--" Buffy made a face and waved her hand. "What are you eating?"  
  
Giles looked up, puzzled. "Cheese. Stilton."  
  
Buffy blinked her watering eyes. "It smells like an open grave. And I'm not exaggerating. It even overwhelms the library smell."  
  
"I have seen you consume food-and I use that term loosely-that would make a goat blanch. Forgive me for having the temerity to expose you to the rich aroma of a Stilton." Giles took a conspicuous interest in his meal.  
  
Buffy shot him a hard glare. "I can tell when you're pissed. You start pulling out the fancy chat."  
  
He put down his lunch and stared into space for a moment before turning to her. "Are you quite finished being childish?"  
  
"Not quite. Your lunch smells like feet." She flashed a winsome smile. "Now, are you ready to talk about the vampire feud?"  
  
"Buffy, you are simply making too much of this. I repeat myself-vampires are not sociable creatures. The strong rule the weak and keep order by means of violence and intimidation. It wouldn't surprise me if you saw Trick's lackeys fighting each other." The Watcher's words carried an air of finality and irritation.  
  
Buffy's mouth tightened into a thin line. "Giles, you've never just dismissed me like this before."  
  
"Well, maybe that's because things are different." His voice was sharp and Buffy pulled back in surprise. "There are other things happening in the world, you know, some of them very important, so you'll forgive me if I don't seem quite as excited as you about something that is truly mundane and ordinary."  
  
"Don't do this, Giles." The Slayer's voice quivered with barely suppressed emotion. "If something else is bothering you, don't get all authority figure on me. Tell me what it is, tell me it's none of my business, but don't dismiss me." She was breathing hard. "I think this is something, and I don't want to miss anything else."  
  
"Anything... what have you missed?"  
  
She touched her neck. "This, for one."  
  
Giles' face softened. "Buffy, you didn't miss that. No one knew... I mean, as your Watcher, even I didn't know."  
  
"Yeah, well, tell Faith that. We almost lost her, and things are still on thin ice. Because we thought we knew what was going on."  
  
Giles put a hand over his mouth, then lowered it. "You're right," he said as he looked at the table. "I still think this is a normal occurrence, but it bears consideration."  
  
"There," Buffy said, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. "Was that so hard?" 


	5. chapter 5

Mr. Trick thrust his hands into the front pockets of his trousers. He did this for a specific reason-it pushed his open trench coat behind his forearms and gave the long black garment a fabulous drape. Too bad he couldn't catch a glimpse of it in the long window beside the door to the mayor's office. That was one of the few things he missed about being human. He would have loved to gaze into a mirror again and see just how good he looked.  
  
The receptionist offered him a cheery smile as he swept into the room. "You can go right in," she said. "He's expecting you." The smile stayed fluorescent-bright in the face of his scowl as he passed.  
  
The Mayor was trimming the dead leaves from one of his plants. He used a silver scissors. Trick stopped just inside the door, his eyes drawn to the huge man sitting on the sofa. "Hope you don't mind," the Mayor said, his back to Trick. "I've asked Nicholas to join us." Trick tried a stony glare on the security chief, but he might as well have been glaring at a stone. The massive troglodyte just sat there, oblivious. Trick moved to a chair on the opposite side of the room and sat down. He said nothing; let the Mayor do the heavy lifting. The silence filled the room and swelled like wet cardboard until the Mayor placed the scissors on his desk and sat down behind it. He straightened his tied and folded his hands on his desk before he spoke.  
  
"I have some real concerns, Mr. Trick," he said.  
  
Trick almost sighed. This was the part he hated, the hand-holding. They always got cold feet. He almost smiled at his mixed mental metaphor. "I don't believe there is any cause for alarm," he said, "but if you would enumerate your uncertainties I would be glad to deal with them."  
  
"My sources tell me that your organization is under attack by another groups of vampires. It seems to me that you can't give complete attention to our project if you're simultaneously fighting some sort of turf war."  
  
"It's no turf war." Trick sounded as bored as he felt. "The Clampetts have decided we're the enemy, yeah. So what? We have a contract. That's the top priority, not a pissing match with a bunch of pentecostal rednecks."  
  
"What if they deplete your organization?"  
  
Trick's chin dropped to his chest and his emotionless eyes stared at the mayor. "The organization is me. Unless they kill me, my company is still in business. Any other losses are simply collateral damage."  
  
"That's very masculine, but it seems to me that I'm the one taking the actual risks." The mayor tilted his head toward Trick and raised his eyebrows.  
  
Trick shrugged. "Yeah, you're taking the bigger risk, but you stand to get the bigger reward."   
  
The mayor pursed his lips. "A little bird has whispered something about a ritual in connection with the object."  
  
"So? There's always a ritual. Or a curse. Or a demon guarding the door, or a hellhound to pursue you. There's always something. Difference is, this time we have to reconstruct the document as well as find the object. I'm not surprised. We are talking about a very smart man, after all." Trick stood. "I have to go. I know you're thinking about voiding the contract, so let me just leave you with this little tidbit. You've already taken the biggest chances. You're more than halfway across the river. If you cancel now and what you've already done becomes known, what do you think will happen?" He watched the mayor grow pale. "Yeah. So now's the time to grow a pair." He smiled. "Trust me. I always watch out for my clients." Trick grinned and touched two fingers of his right hand to his brow in a mocking salute, then wheeled out of the office.  
  
***  
  
"So when do you wanna do it again?"  
  
Willow was annoyed even before she looked up from her notes. Tyler leaned over the table, his palms resting flat on the surface and his stick-like arms forming inverted V's. Willow had a quick mental image of a giant spider with two other spiders at the end of his legs, instead of feet. She shook her head, as much to dispel that picture as in disagreement. "Did I say anything about wanting to do it again?"  
  
He frowned, looking a little puzzled. "Sorry, we must not be on the same frequency."  
  
Willow leaned forward, her voice hissing through her teeth. "Maybe I don't want to do it again. Maybe I found it disturbing. Maybe it was a big letdown. I didn't ask to be bothered."  
  
Tyler flopped back in his chair, a flabbergasted expression on his face, an expression that transformed into a sly grin. "You have thought about it. What happened, did you get scared? Come on, you can feel it pulling at you. Overcome your fear. You're not scared of it anyway."  
  
"Then what would I be scared of?" Willow demanded.  
  
Tyler shrugged. "It's bigger than you. You couldn't manipulate it, control it, you probably couldn't even understand it. That would scare you."  
  
Willow's nostrils flared as her eyes widened. "Shut up! Why do you keep saying that?"  
  
"Because it's true. You like your little Wicca games, you love that Kabbalah, because they both promise that you can bend the universe to your will, but that's not true. You can't control it, you can only let it flow through you, and the thought, the idea of letting go like that scares the pants offa you."  
  
Willow waved a dismissive hand. "You are so... full of it." She realized that she was shouting. She saw the passing students staring at her, all the heads in the lounge turned toward her and heat raced up her neck and enveloped her face. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "It was awful and creepy."  
  
"So," Tyler said as a crooked grin spread over his freckled face, "when do you wanna do it again?"  
  
***  
  
David Mangwana's head lolled back, rolling loosely on his neck. He blinked and stared at the unremarkable ceiling of the room. He moved his arms and legs gingerly, even though he knew that there was no risk of injury. The memory of the pain produced its own caution.  
  
He remembered the first time he'd heard of the gauntlets. Years ago, as a young man studying to be a Watcher. There were so many fascinating objects-magical spears, blessed swords, enchanted daggers. At first the gloves had seemed rather pedestrian. Certainly, no one sneered at a weapon that allowed the wearer to inflict grave bodily harm by touch or gesture. There was an undeniable coolness about the ability to snap an enemy's arm from across the room, but the old instructor, what was his name.... Ridcully, yes, that was it, Ridcully had waxed positively emotional about them. One of the novices had asked what was so special about them.  
  
"Why, lad, they can repair their own damage," Ridcully had explained. It seemed that the gauntlets could heal any wounds they had inflicted. There were some caveats-they could not cure the injuries inflicted by other weapons and if the wearer pushed too hard and killed his antagonist, well, they couldn't resurrect the dead. The class was still blasé. The enchanted daggers seemed much sexier.  
  
"You stupid prats," Ridcully sneered. "Don't you see? They're the greatest interrogation device ever made. Y'can inflict pain t' the point of death, then make it all better and start over again." He had waved his hand in disgust. "Great fools the lot of ya."  
  
Mangwana agreed now. Kirkwood's effective demonstration convinced him. There was one other facet that Ridcully had failed to mention. Sitting and listening to one's bones snap, screaming in pain as ligaments were torn loose from joints and cartilage shredded, knowing that all would be put right and the process repeated was quite strenuous on the sanity. To make matters worse, Kirkwood's innate timidity and caution guaranteed that he would not slip and offer David the relief of accidental death.  
  
Mangwana groaned and shifted as much as his shackles allowed. Time alone was not to be wasted. He reached out with his spirit and began to probe the magickal wards that guarded the room.  
  
***  
  
"Hey, Will, shake a leg. Giles needs us in the Batcave." Buffy slipped an hand inside her friend's elbow and deftly pulled Willow away from her locker.  
  
"Wait, we've got a Batcave?" Willow stammered.  
  
"Figure of speech," Buffy explained. The last straggling students were heading toward the exits. Another day was done at Sunnydale High and the two girls' footsteps echoed off the tile as they made their way through the hall.  
  
Xander and Cordelia were already seated at the table. Giles stuck his head out of the office and held up one finger. Buffy shrugged. She pulled out one of the hard wooden chairs and took a seat. Late afternoon sun slanted sharply through the windows.  
  
"It's almost golden hour," Xander said.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Giles asked as he sat down at the head of the table.  
  
"It's the time between sunset and dark," Xander said. "Best time for shooting a movie."  
  
"I read they shot Days of Heaven completely during golden time." Oz slid into the chair beside Willow.  
  
"Are we going to get started any time soon?" Cordelia asked.  
  
"You have somewhere else to be?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Duh. Only tonight's game against Brookhaven." Cordelia shook her head. "Honestly, don't any of you have any school spirit?"  
  
"I have lots of school spirit," Oz said. "I plan to be at the game."  
  
"Me too," Willow said. "But I suppose that might be obvious. What about you, Buffy?"  
  
The Slayer shook her head. "Gotta study. Test tomorrow."  
  
"Speaking in short, guttural phrases to conserve brain power. Excellent idea." Xander turned to the librarian. "So, let's shake a leg, Giles and get this train rollin'."  
  
"I can't." Giles polished his glasses and put them on. "This meeting was requested by someone else. We have to wait for them."  
  
"Who?" Buffy said.  
  
The voice came from behind her, and up high, toward the entrance in the stacks. "Sorry we're late. Sun's still up."  
  
The Slayer swiveled her head and her heart jumped into her throat. It was Angel. 


	6. chapter 6

He was dressed all in black. His hands rested on the polished wooden railing as he looked down at them. His eyes roamed across the group and when they met Buffy's gaze she felt embers flare in her chest. His hands gripped the rail tightly for an instant before he turned away. Buffy directed her attention to Angel's companion.  
  
He was tall and thin, dressed in a charcoal-gray suit with the faintest of chalk stripes running through it. Deep-set dark eyes rested between a thatch of thick, dark hair and a pair of cheekbones that might have been forged by Wusthof. A long, sharp jaw bore a heavy five o'clock shadow. An aquiline nose completed the ensemble.  
  
"Wow," Cordelia exhaled. "Who's the poster boy for brooding yumminess?"  
  
Buffy felt the sensation in the pit of her stomach turn from heat to unease as the stranger placed a hand on Angel's shoulder. Angel shivered ever so slightly and a blank, dark look passed through his eyes that made Buffy shudder. Every molecule in his body seemed to be trying to get as far away from that man as possible. They descended the stairs with Angel in the lead.  
  
"Excuse me," Giles said to Angel. "I don't recall any mention of a guest."  
  
"That's because I asked him to keep my name out of this," the man said. His voice was deep, with a hint of gravel and an accent that Willow tagged as something Eastern European. "I have no bona fides with you, so I asked him to serve as my intermediary."  
  
Buffy pointed first at Angel, then at the man. "So you two know each other?"  
  
"Oh yes," the man said, throwing an arm across Angel's shoulders. The vampire flinched again. "We know each other quite well."  
  
"Perhaps you should tell us who you are," Giles said.  
  
"Of course." The man held out his hand, palm up. Angel visibly relaxed. "My name," the man said, "is Florestan. I work for the Mayor."  
  
The last of the golden hour faded from the windows and the murk of night crept in. Buffy knew it was an illusion, but it seemed colder as well. She realized that she had pushed her chair back and was ready to spring to her feet. She looked around. Cordelia, Xander and Willow sat with their mouths open and Oz looked as though he'd been turned to stone, although this wasn't such a noticeable change. Giles was frozen, handkerchief in one hand, glasses in the other.  
  
"Okay," Buffy said. "You work for the city. Is this a library inspection?"  
  
Florestan smiled at her. "I didn't say I worked for the city. I said I work for the Mayor."  
  
"Still," Buffy said. "Not sure what that means to us."  
  
He turned to Giles. "May I sit?"  
  
The librarian snapped out of his daze. "Yes, of course."  
  
Angel took the seat opposite Buffy as Florestan lowered himself into a chair. "I believe that I have some information which could be of great value to you."  
  
"You know the Lotto numbers?" Xander asked.  
  
Florestan turned his head and looked at the boy. "I've heard Mr. Trick speak of you."  
  
"Okay," Buffy said, vaulting to her feet. "That's the magic word. You've got about a tenth of a second to convince me to not use your head for a tetherball."  
  
Florestan examined his fingernails. "Well, I might be able to tell you why he's in Sunnydale." He looked at the Slayer and smiled. "You couldn't do it anyway. The tetherball threat, I mean."  
  
"You rather obviously love to hear yourself talk," Giles said, his manner so calm that everyone knew he was a raging volcano inside, "but this might be a good time to get straight to the point."  
  
Florestan shrugged. "Very well. I believe that you know of Mr. Trick's reputation as a salvage expert. He has been hired by the Mayor to locate an artifact and transport it to Sunnydale."  
  
"Is it bigger than a breadbox?" Xander asked in a sardonic voice.  
  
Florestan rubbed his hands together. "He is trying to locate the Seal of Solomon. And I believe he is about to succeed."  
  
***  
  
Robert Woo sat on the hard metal bunk in his cabin and breathed deeply. The throb of the ship's diesel engines vibrated through the space. Robert sat calmly, his heartbeat and respiration slowing as he aligned his being with the pulse of the vessel.  
  
Robert Woo was no scholar. He was, in fact, a powerful wizard who had spent most of his years actually fighting the forces of darkness. He was not a man given to introspection. He was not meditating to gain self-knowledge, or to moderate any frustration with his circumstances. He was rather storing his energies, claming himself and removing impurities, converting the anger and ill will he felt toward those who had invaded his home into a burnished and perfect thing, a resolve capable of motivating a man to do whatever needed to be done.  
  
Robert Woo had sometimes wondered if he was really meant to be a Watcher. He had so little in common with the others, yet he had maintained a belief that one day his purpose in this organization, so full of people unlike himself, would be made plain. He had prepared for that day and now it was here.  
  
A serpent had entered the heart of the Watchers. Robert Woo would find the serpent, cut off its head and cauterize the stump.  
  
***  
  
Giles blinked. "The Seal of Solomon?"  
  
A grin, cruel in its self-satisfaction, touched Florestan's lips. "Yes, it was--"  
  
"A mystical object created by Solomon. Its purpose was to enslave demons and force them to build the great temple in Jerusalem." Willow shrugged, arms crossed over her chest. Florestan looked rather annoyed.  
  
"Why would he do that?" Cordelia said.  
  
"Oh, well, he believed that it would be wrong for human hands to touch the material of the temple, what with the sinning and all, and he thought it would be a real kick to force demons who had rebelled against Jehovah to build him a house."  
  
"Will, how do you know this?" Xander leaned his forearms on the table.  
  
She rolled her eyes at him. "Jewish, remember?"  
  
Cordelia glanced at her watch. "Well, I'm really sure this is very important, but I'm all out of time. Game starts in ninety minutes."  
  
Xander made his mocking face. "Glad to see your priorities are in order."  
  
Cordelia was unfazed. "Look, you know this isn't my strong suit anyway. I can do the kick-ass, I hate the study hall. Just takes some notes and fill me in later." She glanced at Buffy. "It's not like we're really on point here anyway." She hitched the strap of her bag over her shoulders and walked out of the library. Florestan watched her go and turned back, a leering grin on his face.  
  
Xander pointed an accusing finger. "Hey, buddy, watch it. That's my girl."  
  
"Bravado does not fit you." The dark man's black eyes glittered.  
  
Buffy felt an electric shock ripple through her. "You're not human," she said.  
  
Angel broke his silence. "No, he isn't."  
  
Buffy kept her eyes on the dark-haired man. "You vouch for him?"  
  
Angel shrugged. "Not exactly. He won't cause you any physical harm, but I'd be careful about believing him."  
  
Florestan slouched back in his chair, hands clasped loosely over his stomach. "I am offended. I always tell the truth. It's not my fault people don't listen."  
  
"So, this is Solomon, cut-the-baby-in-half Solomon?" Oz asked. Willow nodded. "So, what's the deal with this seal?"  
  
She shrugged. "In some versions of the story it's a scepter, in others it's a ring. It's covered in all sorts of mystical symbols." Her eyes widened and she sat up straight. "Oh, and the tetragrammatron is written on it."  
  
Xander's eyebrows scrunched together. "Is that a new Pokemon character?"  
  
Willow waved a hand at him. "No. It's the true, unutterable name of God. Sort of the core of its power." She looked at Florestan. "You think they've found it?"  
  
Florestan looked at Giles. "I must say that you do a masterful job of maintaining order." The Watcher ignored him with a fervor that bordered on the maniacal. The demon turned back to Oz and Willow. "It has not been recovered, but they have determined that it still exists and where to look, and that is more than half the game."  
  
"What's the damage if they find it?" Buffy asked. "It's jewelry."  
  
Florestan shrugged. "If the Mayor procures the seal, he will have the power to control all demons. They will have to do his bidding."  
  
A moment of cold silence rang through the room before Buffy spoke again. "Okay, that wouldn't be good, but here's what I don't get... why are you telling us?"  
  
His body language stayed languid and nonchalant but Buffy could feel how closely she was being studied by those black eyes. He hitched himself forward in his chair and steepled his hands before him. "My coming here, my offer of this information, it does not convince you?"  
  
"No." Buffy sounded as though this was the most obvious fact in the world. "A demon lying is like a fish swimming. It's part of what they do."  
  
He thought about that, then nodded. "But if that is true, then why would you believe my justification?" He shook his head. "You either accept this or you do not."  
  
Buffy looked across the table. "Giles," she said as she met Angel's gaze, "will you be okay for a minute?"  
  
"I believe so," the librarian replied.  
  
"Good," Buffy said as she got up. She motioned to Angel. "We need some private time." She marched into the hall, followed closely by her one-time lover. "Okay," she said, turning on him as the door swung shut behind them, "what gives? I thought you were leaving."  
  
Angel's expression remained unchanged. "I was. He found me first. I think he's telling the truth."  
  
Vertical frown lines appeared between Buffy's eyebrows. "You said you wouldn't believe him."  
  
Angel shook his head. "I said I'd be careful." He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. "Florestan's like any other demon. His first priority is self-preservation. That's the only instinct that allows them to survive."  
  
Buffy held up a hand. "What does this have to do with saving his ass?"  
  
Angel looked grim. "People think the underworld worships chaos. They don't. Chaos is too creative, to uncontrollable. Demons love order, regimentation. Power and territory are guarded jealously. There's constant jockeying for position, never any trust, constant vigilance for challenges as well as opportunities for advancement."  
  
"Okay, so Hell's like your typical Fortune 500 company. I still don't get his point."  
  
"Don't you, Buffy. Don't you see?" Angel glanced over his shoulder. "The Mayor is planning to stage a coup on Hell." 


	7. chapter 7

"Soooo, not human?" Willow's eyebrows formed twin peaks.  
  
Florestan turned his attention to her. "No, not at all. Why?"  
  
Willow shrugged and picked at a loose thread on her plaid skirt. "I don't know. It's just that you don't seem all, you know, demony."  
  
"Really?" An amused smile crossed his face. "And you know all about demons?"  
  
Willow frowned. "I know a little."  
  
"Indeed. I imagine a little is all you know." He leaned toward her. "We don't all have horns and scales."  
  
"But you all do make with the wise ass," Xander said.  
  
"Is that so?" Florestan turned toward Xander. Their eyes met and Xander shivered. It was like looking down a thousand-foot well. Then something flickered in those eyes and Xander realized that the bottom of the well was full of snakes and nightmares. He pulled back and had to scramble to keep his chair from falling.  
  
***  
  
Buffy searched Angel's face as he turned away. "I still don't get why he's here talking to us."  
  
"He's covering himself. Things have changed since the plan began. You came back, then Faith showed up, now the Reverend has declared war on Trick-Florestan doesn't think it will work now. If the coup fails, well, let's just say that punishments will be severe, even by the standards he's used to, but he can't denounce the plan because it might succeed."  
  
"So he wants us to do his dirty work for him... Keep it from happening if possible, which will cover his ass, but leaving him some wiggle room if we all end up as smoking cinders."  
  
"Pretty much." Angel nodded.  
  
***  
  
"You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?" Florestan asked. "Such children."  
  
"Children who know a thing or two about your kind," Willow snapped. "We've killed more than a few of you."  
  
"You haven't killed a single one of us," Florestan said, smirking.  
  
"We have seen a lot of you turn to dust. Or goo. Or something," Oz said.  
  
"You have banished some from these temporary lodgings. Their essence has merely returned to Our Father's House to begin the journey again."  
  
"Journey? Father's house?" Xander turned his head toward Giles but kept his eyes on the demon. "Giles, a little clarification here would be nice."  
  
"I'm not sure I know what he's talking about," Giles replied.  
  
Florestan's laugh was snarky and condescending, a sneer of pure mockery. "Yes, you're quite a wise group." He placed his hands on the table and stood. "I am through here. Tell Angel that I'm most grateful for his assistance." He loped up the steps and was about to disappear into the stacks.  
  
"Wait!" Buffy and Angel stood just inside the door. "Okay, Trick is trying to find this seal. What are we supposed to do?"  
  
Florestan smiled. "Why, stop him, of course."   
  
"Then we could use some more information," the Slayer said. "What's the dilly between Trick and the Reverend, for example."  
  
The demon leaned forward, his hands resting on the rail. "Hampton's reverted to form. He's a complete psychotic, you know."  
  
"Any idea what caused him to go all Cuckoo's Nest?" Buffy asked.  
  
Florestan shrugged. "Apparently he believes that Mr. Trick behaved reprehensibly toward an emissary. I believe you know something about this."  
  
Buffy's eyes narrowed. "I believe I don't."  
  
"Then your memory is most faulty." Eyes hooded, Florestan looked at the Slayer. "Do not make the mistake of thinking you are an equal partner here. You are not a force in this war. You are spoils."  
  
"What does that mean?" Willow asked.  
  
Buffy shushed her with a wave of a hand. "I've heard that before."  
  
Florestan's smile was beautiful and tainted. "So you do remember. I knew you would." He vanished between the stacks like smoke in a fall breeze.  
  
They were all staring up at the stacks when Faith pushed through the doors. She stopped, her eyes following their gazes to the books, then looped a strand of gum around her index finger and stretched it out.  
  
"So," she said, "I miss anything?"  
  
***  
  
"Okay," Willow said. "I think this is classic division-of-labor time."  
  
"That's very Industrial Revolution of you," Xander said. "But am I the only one who thinks this guy told us a lot and told us nothing at the same time?"  
  
"Xander's right," Buffy said. "We don't know anything about this seal, what it looks like--"  
  
"What it can do," Willow added in a gloomy voice.  
  
"Makes demons sit up and beg," Faith said. "At least that's what you guys say he said."  
  
Willow shook her head. "The seal is a legend, a myth. There are all kinds of different powers ascribed to it, depending on the story you read."  
  
"A 'for instance' might help," Buffy said.  
  
"For instance, some accounts say that with the seal, Solomon could control matter and the elements." Willow looked around the table.  
  
"Nice toy if you can get it," Xander said.  
  
"It would help if we knew the form of the seal," Giles said.  
  
Willow sighed. "I think more stories call it a ring than a scepter, and if you think about it, a ring makes more sense. Solomon was never without the seal, which would be easier if it was a ring."  
  
Xander shook his head. "They're trying to locate a four thousand year old ring? Good luck. I can't find clean socks."  
  
"So what's the plan?" Oz said.  
  
"The division of labor thing," Buffy replied.  
  
"That does seem the most efficient option," Giles said. "I assume that Willow will be helping me with research?"  
  
"Sure," the redhead said. "Oh, but, can it wait until after the game, because I'm already, you know...."  
  
"Certainly," Giles said. "It will take me a few hours to gather the relevant texts and materials."  
  
"Great," Buffy said. "I guess that leaves me and Faith." She turned to the dark Slayer. "We need to keep an eye on CRT."  
  
"I don't think so," Faith said. She tapped her neck with two fingers of her right hand. Buffy flushed dark red.  
  
"You're right," the blond Slayer said. "I should probably stay out of Trick's way. But you shouldn't be out there alone."  
  
"Why not?" Faith asked. "I did it for a couple months."  
  
"But you don't have to now. We'll help." Buffy put on her best serious face.  
  
"Buffy's right," Giles said. "Now that we have some idea of what Trick is after, it makes him that much more dangerous. You shouldn't be out there by yourself."  
  
"Excuse me," Xander said, raising his hand. "Right here, me, guy with nothing to do. I can go with Faith."   
  
A heartbeat of profound silence followed his statement, then Faith said, "Sure, why not? We've partnered before."  
  
Buffy and Giles exchanged a look. The Watcher cleared his throat. "That's a good idea. The two of you should keep surveillance on CRT. Buffy will patrol the city at large."  
  
"I can keep an eye on the airport and the docks. Maybe the trains." Everyone turned to look at Angel, forgotten until he spoke. He shrugged as his eyes cut back and forth. "At night, of course."  
  
Buffy frowned as Xander spoke. "Little surprised you want to be part of the team, Angel. You and what's-his-name there seemed pretty tight."  
  
Angel turned to face Xander. "You don't know anything, Xander. Don't let your mouth write checks your body can't cash."  
  
"So I guess this is all coincidence... You coming back and now a demon wants to talk to us, so, hey, I'll just get my old buddy Angel to set up a meet." Xander snapped his fingers. "That reminds me... why are you back? And how did you get here?" Angel took a half-step toward him. Xander's hand jerked up to shoulder level.  
  
"Okaaaayyyyy." Buffy pushed up from her chair, moving quickly between them. "Let's fight bad guys, not each other. Xander, maybe you and Faith should get going." Xander stared at her, his eyes hot, then dropped his hands and stalked away. Faith jogged after him.  
  
"Well, uh, we're going to the game, I guess," Willow said. Oz circled his arm around her waist. "We'll be back here right afterward, okay?"  
  
"Yes," Giles said. "That should give me enough time to get started. Enjoy yourselves."  
  
As the door swung shut behind the witch and the werewolf, Buffy turned to Angel. "Okay, what's up with that whole 'you're not fighting the war, you're what the war's about' shtick? That's twice I've heard it."  
  
Angel shrugged. "I'm not really sure."  
  
"Do you know what he meant when he said that we'd never killed a demon?" Giles asked.  
  
Angel rubbed his hands together and looked at the Watcher. "That I know about. You might want to sit down," he said, motioning to the chairs. "This is going to be new information. See, when you dust a vampire or decapitate a demon, what you do is eliminate their physical form. Their spirit returns to its source, to Hell."  
  
"And what happens then?" Buffy sounded annoyed.  
  
"They are punished for their failures, then they begin the journey again."  
  
"So instead of making a difference I'm just sending them to the demonic principal's office for a spanking?"  
  
Angel's face was bleak. "You have no conception of what these punishments are like, or how long they last. Time doesn't work the same way there. There are demons still being tormented for things that happened before human history began."  
  
Buffy's face softened, her eyes opening wide. "That's where you met him, isn't it? There in that place, when you were..."  
  
"Yeah, that's where I met him." Angel's jaw clenched tight, a knot of muscle throbbing below his ear. "Want to see the scars?" 


	8. chapter 8

Buffy bit her lower lip. "No. I don't. Not again."  
  
Giles coughed softly. "Um, I need to begin pulling the volumes..."  
  
"Yeah." Angel turned, his coat swirling behind him. "I'll keep in touch."  
  
"Angel, wait." Buffy took a step toward him, her hand raised. He turned back, one foot on the bottom step. "B-Be careful," she said. He cocked his head and then turned and went up the stairs. He looked down from the landing.  
  
"You be careful too," he said, and he was gone.  
  
Buffy turned to her Watcher, her eyes glistening. "Well, I, uh, I guess I better get on the patrolling thing."  
  
"Yes," Giles said, nodding. "That's probably best... Buffy," he said as she reached the door. She looked over her shoulder. He cleared his throat. "Are you... Is there anything you need from me?"  
  
The Slayer brushed her hair back from her forehead. "If I knew what I needed, you'd be the first person I'd ask."  
  
***  
  
Mr. Trick looked at the monitor as he stroked his cheek with a worried forefinger. Delilah looked at Mr. Quisling, who shrugged and raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Sir," Delilah said, "is something wrong?"  
  
Trick's head shook almost imperceptibly. "Damn Watchers."  
  
"Sir?" Delilah sounded confused.  
  
Trick's attention swung from the monitor to his aide de camp. "I hate it when people can't keep their shit together. Damn organization's coming apart at the seams, fools killing each other, all sorts of purges..."  
  
"Isn't that to our advantage?" Mr. Quisling asked.  
  
"No, it's not." Trick glowered at his protégé. "It's another destabilizing element. I like my enemies to be content and predictable." He turned to Delilah. "What about that curse thing?"  
  
She consulted her Palm Pilot. "Well, we're sure that it's a ritual for dissolving the Seal, however, there are numerous codices and conditions that are proving difficult to translate."  
  
"Make sure they get it right," Trick purred. "Last thing we need's a slipshod ritual translation."  
  
***  
  
The varnished floor of the Sunnydale High gym was a deep caramel sky reflecting hundreds of halogen stars and the players from Sunnydale and Brookhaven described their orbits through the hardwood solar system with celestial precision. Percy West circled around a screen and took a pass from Mike Haven. Percy's legs were already gathered beneath him as he caught the ball. He rose into the air and sent a perfectly arched jumper through the twine, the ball dropping out of the sky like a shooting star with backspin.  
  
Willow clapped her hands twice as the net twisted around the rim and the crowd exploded, the noise rocketing around the gym. The SHS Razorbacks might not be having a great basketball season, but they had brought their 'A' game tonight. Midway through the second quarter Brookhaven, a contender for the state playoffs, only led by 31-28. The disgusted Brookhaven coach signaled for a timeout and lit into his players even before they were off the floor.  
  
The Sunnydale cheerleaders raced onto the floor and assumed formation. They paused for a beat, knees bent, then Cordelia barked "Okay!" As one their arms shot out perpendicular to their bodies, the right straight, the left bent at the elbow back toward the body.  
  
"Pretty good, aren't they?" Oz said.  
  
"Yeah." The corner of Willow's mouth quirked. "Cordelia makes sure of that."  
  
"She is curiously intense about it." Oz sat silently for a moment. "It's kind of like the eight hundred pound gorilla, isn't it?"  
  
"What? Oh, yeah." Willow's attention was jerked away from the players returning to the court. "But I don't see... I mean, what can we do?" She kept her voice low.  
  
Oz shrugged. "Not much, I guess. Seems odd, though."  
  
Willow's lips tightened. "We'll deal with it when it's time. There's nothing we can do now, so I choose to just let it go."  
  
"Kind of blasé, even by our standards."  
  
Willow glanced around. The crowd ignored them, its attention focused on the game. "We're underdogs, but underdogs can win. David beat Goliath."  
  
"Yeah." Oz exhaled. "But he only fought him once. How many times can we come out on top?"  
  
Marcus Jones grabbed the rebound of a Brookhaven miss and made the outlet pass to Percy West. Percy took two dribbles and zipped the ball to Kyle Broughton on the wing. He drove baseline and drew two defenders to him, then dished the ball between them to Percy sprinting down the lane. Percy took one long stride and jumped. The ref blew his whistle as Percy dunked the ball over the defender who had belatedly spun away from Kyle. The gym was in pandemonium as the referee indicated that Percy's dunk was good and he would receive one free throw.  
  
"How many times?" Willow asked, her hands clapping wildly. "As many times as we need to, I guess."  
  
***  
  
"Hey, look at that." Faith nudged Xander in the ribs and pointed through the screen of trees. He saw a black car, he thought it was a Mercury Marquis, drive slowly through the gate and accelerate away from CTI.  
  
"Should we follow it?" he whispered.  
  
Faith looked at him, laughter flickering in her eyes. "Only if you got a set of wheels stashed somewhere." She turned back to her vigil. "Nah. Let 'em go." Xander's face burned and he was glad they were in the dark.  
  
"So," Faith whispered, "what this Seal shit?"  
  
Xander shrugged before he realized it was a useless gesture in the blackness. "Another special production courtesy of the Hellmouth, I guess. You get used to it after a while. You know, like people in San Francisco get used to the fog."  
  
"Or the way you get used to the rats in Boston," Faith said.  
  
"Boston has rats?" Xander turned his head toward her.  
  
Faith laughed bitterly. "Until I was five I thought I had a really twitchy puppy. Boston has more rats than people."  
  
"Brrrr." Xander shuddered. "I think I'd rather deal with the Hellmouth."  
  
"You get used to it. Hey, there go a couple of likely suspects. Let's have some fun." She rose up and slipped away in the dark.  
  
"Hey," Xander hissed. "We're supposed to do surveillance. Surveillance doesn't involve fighting and killing. Oh, crap," he said, pushing himself upright to follow her. "Wait a minute."  
  
***  
  
Giles stared at the pitifully small stack of books sitting on the counter. He knew that he couldn't be fluent in every subject under the sun, but he still felt a vague depression over his astounding lack of knowledge or even information about the Seal of Solomon. He had to admit that even his texts didn't tell him much more than the facts Willow had shared. Or maybe he was in a funk because it seemed that almost everything he thought he knew seemed to be turning on its head.  
  
The two streams of thought converged and he reached for the phone. He dialed from memory and listened to the burring ring on the other end of the line. No one answered. Giles furrowed his brow. The receiver clicked in his ear and a voice said, "Who is this?"  
  
Giles held the phone at arm's length and stared at it. The voice sounded tinny as it repeated, "Who is this?" The raspy sound of breathing shook him from his trance and he slammed the phone into its cradle. He stared at it for a second as though it might turn into a viper and launch itself at him, fangs bared. He pressed his hands against the counter to quell their trembling. When the shaking subsided he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, then straightened his glasses and hurried out of the library.  
  
***  
  
Cordelia sprinted off the floor and took her place at the end of the line of cheerleaders. The gym was awash in the white noise of an agitated throng. Brookhaven had already broken their huddle and the five players milled around the lane. The ref went to the Sunnydale bench to remind them that the time-out was over. The other official stood at in front of the scorers' table, ball cradled on his hip. Mike Haven stood beside him. Cordelia wasn't a strong student of basketball strategy, but everyone in the gym with a functioning brain cell knew the ball was going to Percy West. With seven seconds left the score was 69-66 in favor of Brookhaven and Percy had scored twenty-six of Sunnydale's points. The ref blew his whistle and handed the ball to Mike. The cheerleaders took a knee, pom-poms on the floor. Players began scrambling and Coach Ibsen started screaming something about one box. Percy tried to shake free but his man stuck to him like styrofoam packing peanuts. Mike grimaced and passed to Marcus Jones. Marcus took one dribble and passed to Percy, who caught the ball with a hand in his face. He up-faked, then power dribbled around his man into the lane. He stopped and pump-faked. The Brookhaven center shot into the air, buying the fake big-time. Percy left his feet a split-second later, leaning into his opponent to draw contact while launching an off-balance jump shot. The ball spun through the air, kissed the glass and dropped through the rim, but there was no whistle, no foul, and the Sunnydale crowd lapsed into stunned silence as the horn sounded and the scoreboard read Sunnydale 68, Opponent 69. Cordelia spun away from the court, a disgusted look on her face.  
  
"That so sucks," Ashley Burton whined.  
  
"Tell me about it," Cordelia grumbled as she snatched her gym bag from underneath the bleachers.  
  
"Hey, the guys played really good," Andrea Pierce said.  
  
"So what?" Cordelia said. "That's just another way of saying 'Nice try, losers'." She jammed her poms into the bag. As she pulled the zipper closed she looked up and saw Giles talking to Ms. Hollis. It looked like a pretty deep conversation. Cordelia made a face and turned away. Did the whole fighting the undead thing have to seep into every part of her life?  
  
"So?" Ashley said impatiently, hands on hips.  
  
"What?" Cordelia asked, annoyed.  
  
"Are you going to the Bronze?" Ashley said.  
  
Cordelia glanced over her shoulder. Ms. Hollis was still talking to the librarian. Cordelia shook her head like a fighter after a standing eight count and looked at Ashley. "Yeah," she said. "After I shower and change." 


	9. chapter 9

Xander almost ran into Faith crouching in the shadows. She held up a warning hand, but it was too late. Xander looked over her shoulder and saw three vampires turn toward them, attention drawn by the commotion. He stayed as still as possible, hoping that the screen of trees would provide enough cover. Then he noticed that they were sniffing the air. One of the creatures took a step in their direction and Xander felt something rough and damp pressed into his hand. He squinted in the faint light and saw that Faith had given him an impromptu stake, a section of broken branch about two feet long.  
  
He needed it. The vamps approached with great purpose, harsh laughter bubbling from their deformed throats. Faith gripped a stake in each hand and stepped out of the trees. Xander noticed a faint smile on her face.  
  
"Crap," he hissed as he followed. "I thought we were just supposed to watch."  
  
***  
  
Buffy had given up lying to herself. Sure, she'd been walking the streets since leaving the library, so she could claim to be patrolling, but she wasn't really looking for vamps. In fact, she wasn't really looking for anything; she was trying to stay away. Shards of information and new questions ricocheted around her brainpan as her feet moved of their own accord. Irritation flooded her system, annoyance at her own inability to concentrate or to clear her head. She wanted answers, but the one individual who might have them was the one she needed to avoid.  
  
Actually, that wasn't true. Someone else had answers, but she didn't know how to find him.  
  
Or did she? The Slayer's head rose. Her eyes glinted and a corner of her mouth curled as she turned, a new purpose in her strides as she moved down the street.  
  
***  
  
Xander shook his head in an attempt to get all the leaves and twigs out of his hair. He ran his hand through the mess and yelped as his fingers caught in a snag.  
  
"You look fine," Faith said as she slipped the stakes inside her jacket. She slapped her sleeves, ridding them of vampire dust.  
  
"Yeah, easy for you to say," he shot back, "with the Slayer strength and the speed and the kicking and the good stakes. Look what I had to work with." He held out the length of broken branch.  
  
Faith shrugged. "You did okay. Okay, it was funny when he held you up by your ankles but for the most part you handled yourself." She rolled her head as though trying loosen a kink in her neck. "Tell you what," she said. "Let's hit the Bronze. First round's on me, okay?"  
  
Xander tucked his shirt in and pushed his hair out of his face. "I know that you're patronizing me," he said as he followed her. "I just want you to know that I know that."  
  
***  
  
Giles saw Matti Hollis's eyes widen a split-second before he felt the tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Willow, Oz just behind her.  
  
"Hey Giles." The redhead smiled. "Some game, huh?"  
  
"What? Oh, yes, I suppose." Giles glanced at the scoreboard. "I really only got here as it ended."  
  
"That's good," Oz opined. "Skip the exposition, catch the conclusion."  
  
"Yes, something like that." Giles smiled. Willow knew that smile. She thought of it as Giles' 'Holy-shit-we're-in-big-trouble' smile. She bit her lip.  
  
"So, should we get to the library so we can begin that... thing you're helping me with," she said.  
  
"What? Oh, that." Giles blinked rapidly as he removed his glasses. "Well, at the moment I can't, um, open the library for you. Something's come up that I must attend to."  
  
"Something school-related," Matti said. Good Lord, this man was a lousy liar, she thought. Sounded like he was reading right off a sheet of paper.  
  
"Yes, yes," the librarian said, relief drenching his voice. He half-turned toward Matti. "Ms. Hollis and I."  
  
"Okay." Willow tossed her head. "We'll just go ahead and get started."  
  
"No!" The sharpness in Giles' voice caused them all to pause. "I... I can't let students have the run of the library unsupervised. Against school policy, especially dodgy with Principal Snyder here." He licked his lips. "This shouldn't take long."  
  
Oz put his arm around Willow. "Why don't we just hit the Bronze for, what, an hour?" He directed the question to Giles.  
  
The Watcher nodded. "I think an hour will be more than sufficient. Why don't you have a good time for an hour, then meet me at the library."  
  
Oz nodded and steered Willow toward the exit. "What's going on?" she whispered.  
  
"Don't know," he said. "We've got enough to worry about. Let's not super-size the concern, okay? Maybe it's something personal. Let's go check out the DJ, then come back and hit the books."  
  
"You know, that's one of the things I love about you," Willow said, her face crinkling into a smile. "You're always so calm."  
  
"On the outside," Oz muttered.  
  
***  
  
Buffy stepped out of the shadows. "Quite the night owl, aren't we?"  
  
Florestan paused, keys in his hand. "I must admit, I'm surprised to see you."  
  
"Oh, good," Buffy said as she took a few steps toward him. "I'd hate to think I'd grown stale and predictable."  
  
"That's very witty, but I assume you're here for a reason."  
  
Buffy's lips pressed together as she nodded. "You're unflappable guy, all right. Yeah, I want to talk to you."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Let's just say I'm not buying a pig in a poke. Your little visit left me with all kinds of questions and I think you're the guy with answers."  
  
The demon nodded. "You've surprised me again. I thought you would try to get this information from Angel."  
  
Buffy's stomach tightened. "I figure you can get it for me wholesale."  
  
He actually chuckled. "I find that so inscrutable that I'm almost tempted to ask you in."  
  
Buffy spread her hands wide. "Ask away."  
  
Florestan shook his head. "I really can't. I'm trying to protect myself. Being seen with the Slayer isn't part of that."  
  
Buffy shrugged and looked unconcerned. "Hey, the longer we stand out here, the more likely we are to be seen. I wasn't followed and if you were, well, the jig's already up, so be a good guy and ask me in."  
  
He squinted at her. "You're not going away, are you?"  
  
She shook her head and grinned. "I'll stay here until morning. Try explaining that to your car pool."  
  
"Okay, you win." He unlocked the door and opened it, stepping aside and extending an arm.  
  
"Oh, no," Buffy said. "You first." He entered and she followed. The apartment was all chrome, glass and black leather, squared edges and kidney shapes. "Yeah, you're a demon," she muttered.  
  
"I like the modern style," Florestan said as he closed the door. Buffy looked around. There was a sizeable living room, kitchen to the right through an arched doorway, hall to the left, probably to the bedroom and bath. Florestan started down the hall.  
  
"Hold it," Buffy said. "I'm coming too."  
  
"You're a very attractive girl," he smirked. "You don't need a ruse to see my bedchamber."  
  
Buffy's lip curled. "And again I say 'yuck.' Don't make this any more unpleasant than it is."  
  
Florestan shrugged. "I thought you preferred older men."  
  
Buffy waved a hand in front of her. "Just go." They went down the hallway into a bedroom that looked like a full-page ad from the Design Within Reach catalog. Florestan opened a door. Buffy peered over his shoulder. Just a closet. He slipped out of his jacket, hung it on the rod, then pivoted on the ball of his right foot, his right hand slashing at the Slayer. Buffy caught his wrist easily and twisted his arm up behind him, slamming him against the wall. He let out an audible "Uhhh."  
  
"That was so lame," she said. "Like they don't try that in, oh, every movie." She shoved him hard, secretly pleased with the grunt the action elicited. "Now, are you going to be good?"  
  
He nodded as best he could. "I find I suddenly have no interest in heroics."  
  
"Come on," Buffy said, pushing him ahead of her. "Let's talk in the living room."  
  
"May I ask how you found me?" Florestan asked over his shoulder.  
  
"Hung around Willie's bar until he was afraid he wouldn't make a dime, he told me about the more upscale demon club in town, so I just went there and stood around until you came out. That simple." She released his arm and he collapsed on the sofa, rubbing his shoulder.  
  
"How mundane," he said.  
  
"Yeah," Buffy said. "Now, tell me about this seal. What's the extent of its power?"  
  
Florestan shrugged. "I don't know."  
  
Buffy smiled. "Wrong answer. You said demons don't really die. That means you were around when it was in use, so you should have first-hand experience."  
  
He shook his head. "Be careful about being smug. It's a character flaw. Yes, I remember those days, but there is a caveat. Solomon, for all his wisdom and power, was a terribly parochial man. He created the most powerful occult object in all history, but he only wanted to build his damnable temple. No one knows the extent of the seal's power, because he never even attempted to define its limits. The seal is not like some enchanted sword or blessed artifact. It is truly a mystical object. It exists both here and there, in this world and the other. It is sui generis."  
  
The Slayer's lips pursed. "Now you're just showing off."  
  
Florestan smiled sheepishly. "It is a failing of mine."  
  
Buffy looked at him, studying his face closely. "Where was the Slayer?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Buffy crossed her arms. "You heard me. Where was the Slayer? You know, the one girl in all the world, et cetera, et cetera. Was she there with Solomon?"  
  
The demon frowned, caught off guard by her question. "No... I believe the Slayer at that time was a member of the Five Nations if I remember correctly."  
  
"How do I know you're telling the truth?"  
  
He shrugged. "You don't. But I can't think of a more useless lie." His eyes narrowed. "Now, may I ask you a question?"  
  
Buffy inhaled deeply through her nose. "Fire away," she said. 


	10. chapter 10

Buffy stared at him, willing her eyes to shoot flaming arrows. The demon responded by putting his hands on his thighs and looking back at her with a bland expression. "Why do you want to know?" she asked.  
  
He shook his head and raised an admonishing finger. "You're answering a question with a question. Perhaps I'm interested in you. After all, you're quite an interesting creature. These alone--" he tapped the side of his neck with two fingers "-are quite special. You're also a Slayer in love with a vampire--"  
  
"I'm not in love with Angel," Buffy protested, her words hot and false in her mouth.  
  
Florestan shrugged. "Protest all you wish. Still, I wonder why you're here, talking to me, instead of asking him about this. He knows many of these things, you know."  
  
Buffy swallowed. "He said he... remembered you. He said you couldn't be trusted."  
  
"I beg to differ. I always tell the truth, at least the truth as it appears to me." He leaned forward as a hungry, wolfish grin exposed his teeth. "But I do remember Angelus. We were very interested in him in Our Father's House."  
  
"What is this Father's House you keep talking about and why would you be interested in Angel?"  
  
"His soul." Florestan inhaled deeply, as though remembering a particularly fragrant aroma. "Do you even begin to appreciate the paradox? A vampire, a demonic creature, with a soul? How does it work, what is the agency that sustains such an aberration." He leaned forward. "Movies and television get it wrong, you know. We understand you very well. Why wouldn't we? I am..." He stopped short and his eyes went blank. "Time means nothing to me. I have observed your kind since you ate grubs and lived in holes. Your souls we understand. But his... Ah, what a delicacy."  
  
Buffy frowned. "Why are you so Lee Harvey on the soul thing?"  
  
Florestan's face looked dreamy and far away. "Because they make you special. Special and delicious."  
  
"Delicious? Like...?" Distaste was written all over Buffy's face.  
  
"Indeed. You see, we know what you are fit for." His tongue darted out over his lips and for a split-second raw lust and rapacious appetite illuminate his face. "You are food."  
  
Buffy took an involuntary step backwards. "Food?"  
  
"You wonder who you are, what is your calling? You are the shepherdess who guards the flock until we are hungry." His eyes glittered. "You stand there with your finger in the dike, doing their work for them, but where are they? They call you and then leave you to struggle alone until you die, no one to mourn you, a life dedicated to them and what is the result? You go down to dust and are forgotten."  
  
Buffy's throat felt thick and clogged and her arms were covered in gooseflesh. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She swallowed with some difficulty. "Okay, it just got a little Cronenberg in here, so I'm gonna leave. You stay on the couch or I will seriously kick your ass."  
  
Florestan leaned back and shrugged. "I can wait. I have all the time in the world. Literally."  
  
***  
  
Willow used her straw to poke at the ice in her drink. "That was so weird."  
  
Oz nodded, a small nod, but a definite nod. "It smelled funny."  
  
"I'll say. I mean, when has Giles ever blown off a research session? Never, that's when. And he--"  
  
Oz shook his head. "No, I mean it really smelled funny. Giles was definitely freaked."  
  
Willow pulled back and stared at him. "You could smell Giles? I mean, Giles has a smell, and you know what it is?"  
  
He shrugged. "Yeah." He saw the look in her eyes. "Not like I smell you. It was just... the background was different, know what I mean?"  
  
Willow looked skeptical. "Not sure, but not sure I wanna be sure."  
  
"That's cool." Oz stood up, holding his cup in one hand. "Going for a refill. You want?"  
  
Willow shook her head. "Nope. Still got some ice to stab here."  
  
"Okay." Oz sauntered away, slipping easily through the crowd. He nodded to a couple of familiar faces, smiled as the DJ dropped a track by Godspeed You! Black Emperor and caused most of the dancers to murmur in confusion. A quick crosscut into a remix of Curve's Chinese Air restored the crowd to its accustomed state of frenzied motion. Oz handed his cup to the server and turned to watch the crowd. The thick, gamey scent of hormonal teenagers permeated the air as Oz reflected that he could probably get a great buzz if he just stood there and breathed for a while.  
  
The whole sensual sensitivity thing was a trip. Sometimes it was almost as good as a polygraph, although occasionally he could tell a little too much about Willow. That didn't even begin to describe the agony of a full Dumpster or a malfunctioning fluorescent tube. When he was finally under control, he needed to work on sense selectivity.  
  
As he mused on the possibilities a gap opened in the crowd and he saw Xander and Faith dancing. Or rather Xander appeared to be in the grip of a grand mal seizure while Faith performed a full-body massage to alleviate his suffering. That's what it looked like, anyway. The record faded out and Xander made his way to the bar while Faith headed in the opposite direction.  
  
"Hey, Oz," Xander said. He wore a hideous red-and-green shirt with vertical stripes. Rivulets of sweat glistened on his cheeks.  
  
"Hey, man." Oz dipped his head. "Might want to check, make sure you have all your buttons."  
  
Xander shot him a quick sidelong glance. "Yeah, pretty hot out there."  
  
"Looked like it."  
  
Xander frowned. He gave his order to the server and turned to Oz. "Was that supposed to mean something?"  
  
"You and Faith seemed very close." Oz took his drink from the server. "I don't see Cordelia anywhere."  
  
Xander shrugged. "She was at the game. Faith wanted to unwind after patrol."  
  
Oz looked at his cup and nodded. "Listen," he said, "not to be judgmental guy or anything, but are you sure this is a good thing?"  
  
Xander exhaled sharply, his annoyance written on his face. "I told you-Cordelia was busy being the leader of the cheers, Faith and I were patrolling." He held up his hands and wiggled them around. "See, nothing up my sleeve."  
  
Oz shrugged. "If you say so." He turned away and almost collided with Cordelia.  
  
"That would have been the fitting end to a miserable evening," she said, dropping her purse on the counter.  
  
"Cordy." Xander blinked. "How was the game?"  
  
"Only slightly less of a disaster than Meet Joe Black. We lost by one point." She began digging through her purse.  
  
"I'm not an expert on these things, but isn't that pretty good. I mean, isn't Brookhaven supposed to be a lot better than we are?" Xander glanced over her shoulder.  
  
"No, it isn't pretty good. Being head cheerleader for a bunch of losers does not look good on a college app."  
  
Xander looked skeptical. "Yeah, uh, Cor, I don't think they'll penalize you because nobody on our team outside of Percy West can hit a ten-foot jump shot."  
  
"It's loserdom by association. Which I get quite enough of anyway." She scowled. "I'm sorry. That sounded bitchy."  
  
"A little." The server put two cups on the counter beside Xander's elbow.  
  
"Hey, that's sweet." Cordelia picked up mug and took a drink. Xander's eyes bugged.  
  
Oz waved his hand. "I'll have one of what she's having," he said to the girl behind the counter. "It looks good."  
  
"Whatever." The girl shrugged and trudged away, returning with another cup. Oz picked it up and looked at Xander.  
  
"You can owe me," Oz said as he slipped away into the crowd.  
  
Cordelia frowned. "Is it just me or is Oz acting a little weird even for him?"  
  
Xander laughed nervously. "It's not just you."  
  
***  
  
David Mangwana's head lolled back on his neck as his eyes stared up at the ceiling. He thought he saw small, unidentifiable creatures wiggling beneath the white plaster, but some small wedge of his consciousness insisted this was not true. He blinked and the squirming apparitions vanished. He drew a deep, ragged breath and contemplated his approaching insanity.  
  
The gauntlets were responsible. The physical pain was excruciating, but he had expected that. What he was not prepared for, could not have been prepared for, was the psychological toll. To have one's bones broken, ligaments torn, organs bruised and lacerated, this was agony, but it worse, much worse, was the healing. The healing stopped the pain, but not the memory of it, and there was no prospect of release. The flesh was a fresh canvas every day, a new surface for Kirkwood to decorate with his palate of suffering. Mangwana could imagine unbroken weeks of torment, and his mind was defending itself by leaving him. 


	11. chapter 11

Buffy reflected that her Pumas had been a good choice for patrolling. They kept her footsteps from sounding so creepy loud in the deserted hallway, and her jitter factor was pretty high after her conversation with Florestan. Echoing footsteps would have been the proverbial last straw in the camel's back of the day.  
  
She assumed Giles would still be researching with Willow. After all, neither of them really needed an excuse to crack the books and after what they'd learned earlier, well... They might be there until morning.  
  
Which is why she was so surprised when she turned the corner and saw Willow and Oz standing in the hall, Willow staring glumly through the window into the darkened library.   
"Hey," Oz said, phlegmatic as ever.  
  
"Hey yourself," the Slayer said. "What's with the window shopping?"  
  
"Giles isn't here," Willow snapped.  
  
"Whoa," Buffy replied, holding up her hands and taking a step back. "I didn't take him."  
  
"Sorry," Willow grumbled. "We saw him after the game and he was all, I can't right now, so we went to the Bronze and came back and now he's not even here."  
  
Buffy frowned. "That doesn't sound like Giles. Did he say what was up?"  
  
"No." Willow made a petulant face. "He was talking to that Ms. Hollis and he said that something came up that they had to take care of."  
  
"They?" Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "Giles and Ms. Hollis?"  
  
"That's the reasonable inference." Oz leaned against the wall, hands shoved into his pockets.  
  
"What could possibly demand the attention of those two?" Buffy said.  
  
"I don't know," Willow said as she turned away from the door. Her shoulders slumped in dejection as they walked down the hall. "But it better be really important."  
  
***  
  
Buffy spent most of the remaining hours of darkness lying in bed staring at the ceiling. She slipped out of bed when dawn turned the sky rosy and was at school bright and early. She took up a post outside the library and waited. Giles stopped in the middle of the hall and stared at her, his coffee cup in one hand and his satchel and folded newspaper in the other.  
  
"Good Lord," he said. "You're here early."  
  
"That's because you weren't here late," she said. "BTW FYI, Willow's pretty pissed."  
  
The Watcher's forehead wrinkled and he looked as though he'd tasted something sour. "What?"  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "By the way, for your information."  
  
"Oh." Giles stepped around her and pushed the library door open with his hip. "Is that what you wanted to tell me?" he asked, placing his burdens on the counter.  
  
"Not exactly," Buffy said. She grimaced and bit her lower lip. "I, uh... I had a talk with somebody last night." She jumped up on the counter where she sat, feet swinging, while she filled Giles in on her visit to Florestan. When she finished he stared at her, mouth open, coffee cup in danger of crashing from his slackened grip. Buffy offered a cute smile and a shrug.  
  
Giles was not having it. "Do you have any idea how foolish you were?" he demanded.  
  
"Maybe you should just get that printed on a card," Buffy said.  
  
"Do not try to joke your way out of this." Giles started to slam his cup down on the counter, then reconsidered, since it was a paper cup. "I can't believe you would be so impulsive." He set the cup down as firmly as he dared.  
  
"You're right," Buffy said softly.  
  
"Aside from-- What did you say?" Giles blinked like a man coming out of a cave into bright sunshine.  
  
"You're right. It was impulsive. Probably stupid too. I know that." Buffy sighed. "It came to me while I spent the night staring at my ceiling." She looked at her Watcher. He stood there looking like a gaffed fish, his mouth opening and closing as his head tilted from side to side. "Giles, are you okay?"  
  
"I-I... I'm sorry, I was just prepared for some sort of excuse or justification. I wasn't ready to get right to the end."  
  
Buffy cocked an eye at him. "Giles, sometimes you're just weird." She shook her head. "But that's not the point. What if he was right?"  
  
"Excuse me?" Giles leaned forward. "Who is right about what?"  
  
"Florestan said I was a shepherd guarding the flock until they were ready to eat. You said that you don't know who calls the Slayer. What if he's right? What if I'm just, I don't know, keeping the cattle fat until they're slaughtered?"  
  
Giles rocked back on his heels, a shocked expression on his face. "That's... You can't... I never..." His voice trailed away and he placed a hand on the counter for support. "Buffy, you shouldn't even think such a thing. He was obviously trying to confuse you."  
  
The Slayer was silent for a moment, then she slipped off the counter. "Yeah, he probably was. Still, you know."  
  
Giles' face softened. "Buffy, there are many things I do not know, but I know that you, with all your failings, all your shortcomings, are on the side of good."  
  
She stared at the floor, then looked up at him. A quick smile flashed across her face. "You had to get in that failings crack, didn't you?" She hugged him quickly, then broke away. "Thanks, Giles. See you later."  
  
***  
  
Xander rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, pressing hard enough to cause white flashes behind his closed lids. Ms. Stillwell was lecturing about... something. What class was this, anyway? He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear the cobwebs. The bell rang, a glorious benediction to a miserable interregnum. He shambled into the hall. He was dressed in baggy brown cords and a pale yellow shirt with a pattern of orange starbursts. Sunshine, he decided, would be nice.  
  
He blinked in the bright, hazy glare and shaded his eyes with his hand. The temperature had dropped a little, but it was still shirt-sleeve weather. Xander stretched, trying to work out a kink in his back.  
  
"Sleeping in those desks will ruin your spine." Cordelia came to a precise stop next to him.  
  
"Tell me about it," he said. "What's up?"  
  
Cordelia made that face, the one where she tilted her head to the side and looked down at the ground out of the corner of her eye. "Well, that's why I need to talk to you. I know we had plans for tonight, but..."  
  
Xander grimaced. "But what?"  
  
Cordelia squinched up her face. "Reyna's called a meeting of the spring formal committee. It can't start until after cheerleading practice, so it could run pretty late. I can't miss it." The rest of the thought hung unspoken in the air-she couldn't miss because membership on the committee was one of the few social perks left unthreatened by their relationship.  
  
He nodded. "So we'll meet later."  
  
"Wellllllll." She bit her lip. "It seems that Mr. Bates is going to have his gall bladder out next week, so he's moved our Calculus II test up to Monday. That's two days of studying lost, so I really, really need to--"  
  
"Say no more." Xander held up a hand. "I'll find something to do. Hey, if all else fails, I'll patrol with Buffy."  
  
"Yeah." Cordelia's smile was brittle. "You would enjoy that."  
  
"That's me-the guy who fights evil because all his other plans fall through."  
  
"Okay." Cordelia glanced at her watch. "Listen, I've gotta run. I'll... I'll call you later, okay?"  
  
"Sure," Xander said, wiggling his fingers at her departing back. His shoulders slumped as he went down the steps. He looked to his right and saw Faith approaching.  
  
"Hey, Xander," she said. "What's up?"  
  
He stood there for a moment, then shook his head. "I got nothin'. I have no quip. I'm quipless."  
  
Faith mock-frowned. "Sounds serious. You busy now?"  
  
"Me? No. Why?"  
  
She hooked his upper arm. "How's about a cup of coffee?"  
  
Xander weighed his choices, then shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" 


	12. chapter 12

"We're not even making a dent. Maybe it's time we move on."  
  
Time stopped inside the cavernous warehouse. The normal everyday rustle of activity fell silent, leaving a huge chasm of tension. Eyes darted back and forth; no one wanted to move even their head in the charged ambience.  
  
Othniel Hampton turned slowly, his eyes pinning the speaker like a bug on a cork board. "What did you say?"  
  
Coyne licked his lips. "I said, we're not touching them. Maybe we should cut our losses and move on. His chest heaved as he struggled to meet his master's stare. Screwing his courage to the sticking point, Coyne continued. "Look at us. We're down to a handful. Between the Slayers and Trick's force we're getting our brains kicked in."  
  
Hampton's lip curled and then he was in front of Coyne, his hand closed around his lieutenant's throat, squeezing. "All that keeps me from ripping out your throat now is your loyal service to me in times past." Coyne grimaced. Hampton opened his hand. Coyne staggered backward, his hand going to his gullet. Hampton spat on the floor.  
  
And looked around at his followers. They were gaunt and spectral, hollow-eyed.... well, more hollow-eyed than usual, and there were markedly fewer of them. Hampton felt the skin tighten around his eyes. He turned back to Coyne and extended his hand.  
  
"Forgive me," he said. "Zeal sometimes blinds me. We have suffered. But sometimes the just must suffer at the hands of the guilty. We cannot leave his sin unpunished."  
  
"What sin is that?" Coyne asked. "I'm a little unclear about it."  
  
"He stretched forth his hand against one of the anointed. His presumption is a foul stink in my nostrils. It cannot be ignored." Hampton turned his head to one side and stretched his neck like a man trying to work out a kink. "But you have a point. Frontal assault only depletes us. It is time to adopt a new tactic."  
  
"What's that?" Coyne said, his hand drifting away from his neck.  
  
"Give me a day." Hampton stalked away, then turned back to his flock. "I must reflect and purify myself. Then we will strike, and this blow shall be heavy."  
  
Coyne watched his leader depart, then shook his head. "He's a spellbinder, I'll give him that."  
  
***  
  
Stefan Warner got up from the sofa in the teacher's lounge just as Giles was about to speak. "Just a minute," the history teacher/mystical knight said as he dragged a blue plastic chair from the round Formica table and wedged it under the doorknob.  
  
"What on earth are you doing?" Giles asked.  
  
"Call me crazy, but I'd really prefer that no one walk in on us during this conversation." Warner crossed the room and dropped back down on the couch. "Okay, what's up?"  
  
Matti Hollis leaned against a counter, arms folded in front of her. "Mr. Giles called Gerard last night. He got a strange voice. Since I was at the school, he came to me. We spent a good chunk of the night burning up phone and modem lines and it seems that Gerard is officially missing."  
  
Warner's eyes narrowed. "Missing?"  
  
"Apparently the Watchers are having some sort of internal conflict." Hollis uncrossed her arms and rested her palms on the counter. "Seems some of them have turned up dead, others missing."  
  
Warner frowned. "Organized?"  
  
Hollis shrugged. "Would appear so."  
  
Warner thought for a moment. "Some sort of demonic cult, maybe."  
  
Giles shook his head. "No. The Council's headquarters is undisturbed. There's no general alert. It must be some sort of... coup or insurrection."  
  
"Look, Mr. Giles, I don't want to be rude, but what makes you think they'd inform you of a general alert? You haven't been in the loop for a while, have you?" Warner raised an eyebrow.  
  
Giles struggled to remain calm. "I know because I contacted the Council last night. None of the protocols were in effect, and even if I am somewhat persona non grata at the moment, I don't believe they would change them all on my account."  
  
Warner grimaced. "I really wish you hadn't contacted them. We don't need attention directed our way."  
  
Giles stood, walked over to the coffeepot and poured a cup of hot water from the carafe he'd placed on the warming pad. He took a tea bag from the box he kept in the cupboard and dropped it into the cup to steep, then turned back to the two teachers. "I don't think we'll be bothered by any attention, at least not for a while. The last matching of Watcher and Slayer was tampered with. Gerard sent me proof. This is... I cannot think of a greater offense. Whomever would do this..." Giles sipped his tea and shook his head. "It will mean civil war. I may be in some danger, but no more than any other Watcher who remains loyal to the traditions of our order."  
  
"Nice speech," Warner said dryly. "You might get nominated for a People's Choice award."  
  
"Very droll." Giles sipped again, savoring the moment. "I believe I may know something else that will hold your interest." He smiled slightly. "I know what the Mayor wants."  
  
Hollis pushed herself away from the counter as Warner unfolded from the sofa. "Mr. Giles," he said, "I believe you have my complete attention."  
  
The librarian looked from Hollis to Warner. "I'm telling you because I believe that we must work together. There can be no territorial squabbling, agreed?"  
  
Warner shrugged. "You've got my vote." Hollis nodded.  
  
Giles took a deep breath. "What do you know about the Seal of Solomon?"  
  
"Wow." Hollis took a step back.  
  
Warner rubbed the knuckles of one hand over his forehead. "Honestly, not that much, but we can put people to work on it."  
  
"That would be best," Giles said. "I--"  
  
The doorknob rattled. Warner pulled the chair away in one swift, smooth motion. He was already sitting in it when the door popped open and Principal Snyder stumbled in to the room. The short, bald man looked at the three teachers, all of whom stared at him.  
  
"The, uh, the door must have stuck." Snyder drew himself up to his full but still negligible height and left the lounge.  
  
***  
  
"I saw him leave with them!" Willow was apoplectic. "I was coming out of the Chem lab and I saw Principal Snyder go into the teacher's lounge, and then he left and then Giles came out with Ms. Hollis and Mr. Warner."  
  
Buffy made a skeptical face. "Will, do you think you might be going a little Taxi Driver about this whole thing?"  
  
Willow shook her head. "No. Giles never blows off research, and now he's just hangin' out in the teacher's lounge with his compadres." She waved her arms in the air.  
  
Buffy stifled a laugh. "Compadres? Okay, Will, you've shown intensity before, but now you're edging into Walken-in-Deer Hunter territory."  
  
Willow winced. "It was cheesy, wasn't it?"  
  
Buffy's eyes widened as she took her friend by the arm. "A little, yeah." She looked thoughtful. "Why do you suppose Giles is hanging around Ms. Hollis so much?" Her look changed to one of shock. "You don't suppose... they're... dating, do you?"  
  
Willow shook her head. "He wouldn't..." She stopped and stared at the Slayer. "You don't think they could be, do you?"  
  
Buffy shrugged. "It has been a while since..." Her voice faltered. "You know," she concluded lamely.  
  
Willow's mouth puckered. "It's going to be the eight-hundred pound gorilla for a long time, isn't it?"  
  
Buffy nodded. "Ooooohhh yeah."  
  
***  
  
Othniel Hampton's lanky frame stretched across the floor of the old supervisor's office. He had been here, face down, since leaving his flock. Not even his preferred method of mortifying the flesh was sufficient to inspire him. Coyne was right; they were truly in desperate straits. Trick sat in his fortress, untouchable, and killing his minions was not having any effect on him whatsoever.  
  
Hampton raised his head. That could be the key. Yes, it could.  
  
***  
  
Willow slammed her locker, turned, and screamed. "Don't do that," she gasped, hand over her heart.  
  
"What?" Tyler Pittman asked. "What'd I do?"  
  
"Have you ever heard of personal space?" Willow asked, annoyed.  
  
"No," he replied. "When do you want to do it again?"  
  
"I already told you," Willow said as she turned and stalked away, "I don't want to do it again."  
  
He stood by her locker, a puzzled look on his face as he watched her leave. He shook his head, turned and went the other way.  
  
***  
  
"Gee, I appreciate it, but I don't think you'd enjoy what I'm doing," Buffy said.  
  
"Try me," Xander said. "And I mean that. Try me."  
  
She shook her head. "Sorry. I'm going to see Angel, try and find out some stuff, then it's study, study, study. The down side to a surprisingly high SAT is increased maternal expectation." Buffy flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Why don't you patrol with Faith? She could probably use the help."  
  
Xander shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I could."  
  
"Besides, I think having one of us around her kind of keeps her grounded, you know?"  
  
Xander nodded. "Sure. That's me, the understanding, grounding guy. The eunuch."  
  
Buffy frowned at him. "That's not what I meant." Her face softened. "You are one of the best guys I've ever met. How can being around you not be a good thing for her?"  
  
Xander looked away in irritation. "I know you think that's a big compliment, but it makes me sound like a big safe puppy."  
  
The Slayer smiled. "Which you kind of are."  
  
"Don't say that! Do you know how that makes a guy feel?"  
  
Buffy shook her head. "Gee, Xander, I guess you'll just have to get used to our respect and friendship." She gave him a quick hug. "So treat Faith nice."  
  
"Geez," he muttered as she walked away, "I'd swap a little loved and respected for some feared and wanted."  
  
***  
  
Faith held up two fingers. Xander nodded, then squinted into the darkness. He could just make out the shadowy figures Faith had spotted. He followed her as she moved to flank them. Crouching behind a hedge, Faith pressed a stake into his hand and brought her lips to his ear.  
  
"I'm going over. You go around and we hit 'em from two sides." He nodded and duck-walked to the end of the shrubbery. He looked back over his shoulder. Faith nodded, then vaulted over the hedge. Xander sprinted around the bushes, feet slipping on the wet grass, his vision bouncing. He caught fragmented glimpses of Faith and the vamps engaged in combat as he charged and then one of the vamps turned toward him.  
  
"Oh shit," Xander said.  
  
Having finally gained momentum, he was unable to slow down on the slick grass and that saved his life. The vampire was prepared for him to do the smart thing and pull up, but Xander barreled right into the flatfooted bloodsucker. Xander felt himself catapulted through the air as the demon kicked. The boy landed flat on his back but adrenaline helped him scramble to his feet. He rounded on the advancing vamp and swung his stake, but the creature caught his wrist and twisted. Xander yelled in pain as his arm was twisted in an unnatural way. A white-hot streak of pain shot through his shoulder. He felt the joint grinding and then blessed relief flooded through him. He staggered a few steps and turned. The vampire swung its arms wildly, trying to dislodge Faith. She'd jumped on its back and had both arms wrapped around its head. The vampire stumbled backwards and slammed into a tree. Faith's ribs creaked with the impact, but she held on. The creature repeated the process. Faith threw her head back and howled, "Dammit, get a new move!"  
  
Xander stumbled forward, arm dangling. The vampire tried to ram Faith into the tree again but he missed and they tumbled over backwards. Xander arrived and did the only thing he could think of-he flopped down across the struggling vamp. Faith kicked at the demon's head, trying to free herself. She wriggled out from underneath him, pulled a stake and dusted the bloodsucker.  
  
"Come on," she said, getting to her feet, "we're done here. It's time to party."  
  
"I don't think I want to hit the Bronze," Xander said, rolling over onto his back and rotating his left arm slowly in order to see if the joint still worked correctly.  
  
"I'm not talking about the Bronze," Faith replied as she picked up her stakes. "Come on." 


	13. chapter 13

Cordelia stopped writing and put her pen down in the valley between the pages of her textbook. She listened intently, her head cocked toward the door of her room. The house was quiet. She got out of her chair and went to the door. She opened it a crack. A faint, clear clinking sound carried up the steps. Cordelia closed the door and went back to her desk. She bowed her head and began writing again, pressing down with the pen until the tip tore a hole in her notebook paper.  
  
***  
  
Faith hadn't lied; she wasn't talking about the Bronze. They arrived at a battered-looking house in a very seedy area of Sunnydale. Xander knew it was very seedy because it was eight blocks away from his uncle Rory's house, which was simply seedy, and the neighborhood was definitely not moving up.  
  
The peeling wooden siding vibrated as they walked up the tilted steps to the sagging plank porch. Faith smirked as she looked up at the bare yellow bulb. "Just like fucking home," she said, banging on the door. A blast of warm, fetid air, thick with humidity and trembling with the strains of over-amped nu-metal, washed over them. A guy wearing a leather vest and no shirt over a massive gut and impressive body hair glared out at them.  
  
"Private party," he growled, or tried to. His slurred speech and rather unfocused stare rendered him less intimidating.  
  
"I'm a friend of Jimmy's," Faith said as she pushed past him. The guy nodded and reeled back into the seething mass of bodies packed into the small living room.  
  
"I'm glad you're a friend of Jimmy's," Xander yelled into Faith's ear. She shook her head without turning toward him.  
  
"I'm not, but there's always a Jimmy at a party like this." She grinned. "Looks like a wicked good time. Wanna dance?"  
  
***  
  
Faith had Xander by the hand, pulling him toward the back door. They pushed through onto the back porch. Sweat molded Faith's tank top to her upper body. Her arms and face glistened in the moonlight and steam rose from her. "Great party, huh?"  
  
Xander sat down on the steps. "I guess. You know some pretty scary people, Faith."  
  
Faith sat beside him. One hand reached over and began kneading his back. "Your shoulders are tense."  
  
Xander glanced at her. "Well, I do a lot of shrugging and flinching."  
  
"Why?" She leaned toward him until her nose almost touched his. "You spend all your time waiting on Buffy or Cordelia. You ever get tired of that?"  
  
He swallowed with great difficulty. "Sometimes."  
  
She brushed her lips against his. "I think you spend too much time waiting." She pulled away and stood up. "You ready for some action?"  
  
***  
  
Faith leaned against him as they went up the steps to his house. Xander did not find the warmth of her body pressed against him to be unpleasant.  
  
"I, uh, I think we're in luck," he said, opening the door. "My parents seem to be gone."  
  
"Perfect," Faith purred as they crossed the threshold. "All alone in a big ol' house."  
  
"Yeah, well, about that... How alone do you want to be? I mean, I can understand if you need some time to yourself. After all, big fight like that... I'm babbling, aren't I?" Xander pushed the door closed behind them.  
  
"Yeah, you are," Faith said, and kissed him. Not just on the lips, either; this was a full-contact total-body all-along-the-watchtower kiss. When she stepped back, Xander slumped against the door, head swimming.  
  
"Would you like something to drink?" he asked, his voice weak.  
  
"C'mon," Faith said in a husky voice, "do you really think I came all the way to your house for a Coke? There was plenty to drink at the party."  
  
The best Xander could do was a shrug.  
  
"Now, listen," Faith said. "I'm assuming that your bedroom is at the top of those stairs. I'm going up those stairs--" she took a step back, a small smile curving her lips, those beautiful, wine-red lips "-and I'm going to find that bedroom." She took another step back, and her hand slid across her belly. Mesmerized, Xander followed that hand as it deftly undid the top button of her jeans. "I'm going into that bedroom--"  
  
"Listen," Xander said, "this sounded like a great idea at the party, but now--"  
  
"-and you can join me or..." Faith reached the stairs and began to ascend them, moving slowly backwards, her eyes never leaving him. With each step another button on those jeans came undone. Xander swallowed hard; there weren't that many steps. Her jeans fell in the middle of the staircase. Faith arched an eyebrow. Xander knew he should say something, anything, and he tried, but it would be so much easier if he could just catch his breath, and if those damn drums would stop! Who was playing drums anyway? He realized that what he heard was his own pulse. He opened his mouth. All that came out was a slight croak.  
  
Something flew through the air, landing at the base of the stairs. Xander shuffled forward like a robot and picked it up. A black bra dangled from his fingers. He looked up. He noticed a shirt hanging from the banister. Faith stood at the top of the stairs. She smiled, a grin full of promise and lust, then turned and went into the bedroom.  
  
Tribal pounding filled Xander's head as he began to climb the stairs.  
  
***  
  
End of "It Is What It Is What It Is" 


End file.
